A Woman of War, A Kingdom of Strife
by Ardent Apathy
Summary: Some women are royalty-waited upon and pampered.Some women are serving girls-waiting upon and obedient.Some women are peasants-nothing. She's a stubborn woman in a man's world.Battle-born and bred.Taboo.But life is a trip.Can she change her lot in it?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** **I own nothing, save for the hours I spent typing this and the idea for Raivierra's character.**

**Note****: I intend for this to be a continuous story, roughly following the chain of events from the series (though I may take artistic license with the order of some events). If ya'll like, please do kindly leave reviews—let me know if it's worth working on, yes?**

**Another Note****: I've rated this as M for safety and future occurrences. **

Sleek dark locks that once flowed in soft loose waves across feminine shoulders now clung in a stubbornly tangled mess to a sun-kissed neck and breast, matted hopelessly with sweat and grime. Blood, sweat, and a fierce scowl swathed her deceivingly elegant face in less-than-flattering ways.

All around her, beyond the bars of the pen, barbarous brutes hooted and hollered… and for once, they were in her favor. The man before her was bellowing—whether it was born of rage or pain she couldn't be sure. She ducked down and to the right when he charged her, wildly swinging his war hammer. Her narrow longsword danced lengthwise across both of the man's stocky shins while one thrust with her offhand embedded her short sword just bellow his patella. His weapon struck air where her head had just been. He roared again and stumbled.

Exhaustion made her slow to release the hilt.

She tumbled with him, only to be caught in the back with the blunt face of his hammer upon attempting to rise. A rough kick sent her sprawling to the side of the cage. He was toying with her.

She staggered to her feet, using the bars of the enclosure to pull herself up. She turned in time to see the barbarian's polearm before its shaft pressed her against the cage by the neck. Behind her, the spectators greedily grabbed at her like the lechers they were. She gasped for breath, somehow managing to wedge her right forearm between the helve of the weapon and her throat, while her left grappled with his for control. Of course that meant if he were to gain any ground in this gridlock the blade of her remaining armament would slice clean through her face. But she couldn't be bothered with the little details. It wouldn't be long before this man overpowered her.

Desperation won out over Logic. She forced her arm through the crevice she had made. In that split second- the one before she was strangled and her head bludgeoned, she gave a mad cry and brought her elbow down forcefully on the iron pole. By some bizarre stroke of luck, the man's aim misdirected and struck her thigh. Taking advantage of his confusion, she jabbed at his chest with her sword, its point piercing just below his collar bone. Gripping the hilt with both hands now, she pressed forward, forcing the wide-eyed fellow to back-peddle furiously. She hooked her right leg behind his wounded knee, keeping on him as he fell. She raised her sword from its well-dug wound. Without so much as a moment's hesitation, she plunged its blade straight through his chest.

She would do him that favor. The wilderen wouldn't have him. At least not while he was alive.

She rose from her position on his chest, her ears resonating with the wild claps and cheers of the on-lookers. Not to mention the distinguishable clinking of gold being exchanged between gamblers. She walked slowly and deliberately to the door of the cage. She'd be damned if she stumbled around for these fools' amusement. She waited patiently, surveying the crowd as the latches were methodically unlocked. Where was that chivalrous bastard? The woman walked erectly towards Hengist's banquet table, denying her wounds any leverage what-so-ever.

Two gloved hands ensnared her hand and drew her towards a sturdy chain-mailed body. The man that dared touch her after that display was tall, lightly tanned, and wore a handsome face topped by dark hair. Lancelot smiled down at her, gently resting a hand on her lacerated shoulder. "Raivierra. Thank God you made it out alright."

"Yes, I'm quite thrilled about that as well." Raivierra replied sarcastically.

"And not a shred changed, I see." Lancelot offered an approving chuckle. Her gaze followed his as he assessed the damage. A growing grossly-discolored welt on her thigh indicated damage to her femur. Her studded leather armor was pierced in the abdomen; most likely from when she had unwisely misjudged reach of the hammer's spike.

"Don't be too disappointed." She retorted smartly, her moss-green eyes sparkling teasingly.

"In all seriousness, you had me worried for a moment there, Raivierra." Lancelot's expression became sincere as he firmly held both shoulders. "You nearly… Had I lost you…" he trailed off.

Raivierra's face lost all emotion as eyes searched his momentarily. She nearly felt guilty for making him so concerned. Nearly. Her sly smile returned. "Really? Was it that close?" She shook herself free of his grip and clasped his hand, moving to lead him through the crowd. "There'd better be one hell of a bonus for putting on such a damn good show."

Lancelot pulled her back. She gave a start when a rough hand touched a tender spot on her jaw, wiping blood from a nick. "But perhaps now you'll listen when I say two duels a day is enough?" He questioned, his voice still dreadfully serious.

"I'll consider it. If it'll put your mind at ease." She returned, clapping him good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Now. I need to collect my reward before Hengist mistakes one of these ugly mugs as the victor.

Trekking across the room with Lancelot in tow, she came to a halt where Hengist sat with a dark-skinned woman. "My reward." She stated flatly.

The Germanic brute with an ass and gut far larger than his title laughed heartily at her approach. "So demanding. No wonder a woman like you couldn't find a place anywhere else."

"I am not here for a damned polishing tutor, nor for your commentary. You owe me coin." Raivierra growled through a clenched jaw.

"My apologies, Lady Morgana." Hengist half-turned to the woman on his left. "The problem with this kind of entertainment…" he glanced back at Raivierra, "Is that they have no tact."

The so-called 'Lady Morgana' nervously acknowledged his words with a tight-lipped smile and a timid nod. Though she tried to mask it, the poor woman was clearly terrified. Raivierra's keen eyes had picked up on the slight quiver of her lips.

Raivierra glanced at Lancelot from the corner of her eye. His eyes were riveted on this 'Morgana' as hers were locked on him. Interesting. Sure, the girl _was_ pretty, but nothing really special.

No. Now she was getting distracted. _Jealous?_ No. Just distracted.

Her hand flashed out, deftly catching the pouch of gold thrown her way. She weighed it in her hand. It was a tad heavier than the three already hanging at Lancelot's belt. Perhaps there was a little something extra for her performance. She turned to flash Lancelot a triumphant grin, only to find that he had yet to move a hair. She underhanded the small sack at him. It jingled as it hit him squarely in the chest. Nevertheless, the spell was broken and he caught it on the rebound. She received a half-smile and appreciative nod in return, though his gaze remained on the other woman.

Oh god. Already, she was referring to her as 'the other woman'.

"What sane woman would trust a man with her gold… they must be lovers." Raivierra overheard Hengist's whisper to Morgana. The girl simply responded the way she had before, yet she too kept her gaze on Lancelot.

Raivierra scoffed inwardly. Lovers? No. Now? No. Never? Well, not with the way he had been gawking at Morgana just moments ago.

"Come." That same rough hand abruptly grabbed her arm and lead her away into the thick of the crowd.

"Oh? So you've finally got your head of the clouds, have you?" Raivierra chided. Damn. That almost sounded bitter. She gulped the loathsome tone away and tried again, "So, you knew her?" It still sounded more akin to an accusation than a question.

"Raivierra." Lancelot suddenly rounded on her. Only then did she notice that he had led her to the ruddy sleeping chambers—nearly barren at this time. He pulled her close and dropped his voice to a barely audible whisper. "You and I have kept together through quite a lot, yes? You've stayed by me when the odds have never been in our favor, yes?"

Raivierra pulled her head back, unsure if Lancelot was in his right mind. Was this a joke? She hesitated, allowing her eyes to dart about the room. When she looked back to him, his piercing gaze was still fixated on her. And he leaned dangerously close. "I… yes, of course." she finally responded.

"And that has not changed?" That same stern tone.

"I… don't see why it would." She drawled uncertainly.

"Then I need you now."

"I beg your pardon?"

'**Nother Note****: I do hope ya'll enjoyed. If there's interest, I'll stay on. Thank ya'll. =)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: So I've gotten a ton repeated hits and story alerts, So I suppose I should assume there's an interest among some readers, yes? I will be trying to make each update longer han these first 2 chapters—I felt like if I just tossed it all together the transitions would warrant quite a few "wtf?"s and the flow would be… awkward. So anywho, I R&R por favor, and I hope ya'll lovely people enjoy! 3**

Raivierra's arm stretched wingspan-wise across Lancelot's chest, barring any movement from her rugged companion. She peered around the bend in the passageway, her left palm gratefully dropping from its place on the cold, slick stone wall. Torches along the wall partly illuminated the room with their flames' skittish dances. Her right hand crossed her body to draw the dagger at her hip—independent of her own consciousness. Not a single thing stirred. Not a thing drew breath, save for the still form locked in the far cell. She gave Lancelot a sharp nod and moved boldly into the room.

"I imagine they must be looking for the ass that sabotaged the kegs." She bravely raised her voice above a whisper. She felt a slight rush of air tickle her calves and knew Lancelot to be following her. "Oh, the madness I commit for you." she quipped, simultaneously returning her dagger to its scabbard.

"And I'd be nowhere without you." Lancelot conceded, though his tone read that his attention was elsewhere. Even as he lingered at a slower pace, his steps were heavier, jilting his chainmail tunic with each footfall. To her acute senses it rattled deafeningly. He had forgotten the essence of stealth.

And all for this 'Morgana'—wait. _'Guinevere' _was her name. Lancelot had made a point of her being the serving girl to King Uther's ward. And Hengist had no clue? The clod couldn't even conduct a proper abduction? _Pathetic. _

"Lancelot?" came a gentle feminine voice. Sweet. Panicked. "Is that you?"

Lancelot jogged the remainder of the way to the far cell, easily overtaking Raivierra's slackened gait. "Guinevere." He responded breathlessly, now crouched before the cell, peering through its window. "I am here."

"I hardly believed my eyes…" the woman questioned through trembling lips. "Why are you here— how could you fall in with the likes of these men? You are far better than this!" Distress riddled her voice.

"I…" Lancelot's shamed voice followed Raivierra as she scouted the nearby stairwell. "There are few opportunities for men like me, my Lady. I know only to wield a sword… though well enough to earn a living, it seems." She heard him hesitate, "When I left Camelot—when I left you, I lost myself. I fell to nothing…" Those words stopped Raivierra in her tracks. He spoke some more, but the rest was muddled to her. Suddenly dazed, she leaned dejectedly against the cracked masonry and scoffed. Was that how he saw her? Nothing? A last resort?

"You are _not _nothing." Guinevere asserted. "And I refuse to believe that this is all you are meant to be. Your hopes and dreams-"

"I was dabbling in a fantasy world. Reality is something far different from that." At least Lancelot was smart enough to keep it to hushed tones. And sensible enough recognize that fact— even Raivierra was reluctant to do so.

Raivierra carefully picked her way back to Lancelot, numbly descending the steep stairwell. She stood at his side, watching for the slightest of movements that necessitate a quick getaway.

"I have thought of you often." Lancelot's deep voice ran thick with wonder when he spoke. Raivierra glanced over her shoulder at the kneeling man. Her eyes dusted his figure briefly, admiring his chiseled features. Her gaze lingered on his right hand, which was intertwined with Guinevere's—clasping each other through the bars of her cell. "Have you so much as thought of me?" Raivierra's eyes turned downward at his question.

"I… thought I would never see you again." Guinevere responded in kind, bringing her face close to the bars.

"Lancelot." Raivierra warned, dropping her hand to the man's broad shoulder. It seemed her presence had been forgotten until that moment. She drew it back sharply when the man shifted under her weight, looking questioningly up at her. "They're back."

Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor moments later. More than a few men, judging from the magnitude of the sound.

"I- _we_ will get you out of here, Guinevere. I swear it." Lancelot's voice brooked with determination. He reluctantly turned away, rising and giving Raivierra a curt nod. "Best get on with it then."

As the two made haste in silence (as well as they could) for the stairwell from whence they came, the footsteps behind them quickened. "Someone's been here!" A guard (if you could call these brutes that) shouted in alarm.

Halfway up the staircase, there was no way in hell the pair would outpace them at this rate. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lancelot's hand go to the hilt of his sword. "No." Raivierra turned abruptly around and placed her hand over his. "You'll blow our cover if you start something now."

Lancelot struggled with her for a moment, but her grip was far stronger than he expected. "And if I don't, we're both dead."

The light of torches danced across the masonry now. She shoved him crudely back against the wall, keeping her grip on his hand with her other hand against his shoulder.

"What are you—" Lancelot started and his eyes widened, clearly bewildered.

Her eyes frantically searched his face as she wetted her lips, nervously glancing back towards the voices of their pursuers. Closing her eyes and running her tongue over her lips once more, she forcefully crushed them against his, leaning her weight against his frame. A sharp intake of breath. He was paralyzed for a moment; the poor man must've never have seen that coming. A slow exhale and she felt his free arm encircle her waist, pulling her to him. All thoughts dropped from her mind like the stones from her shoddy house. Her lips parted, his other hand moved to caress her neck, and their kisses deepened. She felt her body grow warm. Then searing hot.

"You've trespassed into… oh... well well well…" Hengist's men came upon the scene with none other than Kendrick leading them. Their initial stern expressions were replaced with smirks and smug looks.

Raivierra broke away, breathing heavily. Much to her content, Lancelot's eyes remained closed for a moment longer. She turned her head to face the new-comers, resting it casually under the crook of Lancelot's neck. She feigned a look of shock. The flush in her cheeks however, was genuine.

"Oh err, yes. Forgive us, but we were just looking for some… privacy" Lancelot's eyes were locked on Kendrick now, his voice husky when he broke his stunned silence.

"Priva—yes, and either of our quarters just seemed so damnably far." She noticed the man's Adam's apple bob with a thick gulp. "I just couldn't keep my hands off him." She confessed, raising a caressing hand to his chest.

"And such a beautiful woman!" He gripped her hips and rocked her against him convincingly. "Who am I to refuse?" Lancelot cleared the gravel from his throat and gave a hearty laugh.

Kendrick eyed the duo skeptically. He rubbed his chest subconsciously and looked back at his men, who leered and wore lewd smiles. Turning back to face the couple, he chuckled appraisingly and half-nodded at Lancelot. "Fortune smiles on you this day. You win your duel, your gold, and a comely wench for your bed." His lips twisted into a lascivious smirk upon turning his attention to Raivierra. "I could use a good roll once you're through with him."

"That won't be—" Lancelot started to protest, but Raivierra cut him off. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. Now continue this affair in your lodgings. Our boys are quick to violence… and we wouldn't want them getting the wrong idea from two shady characters trawling through our dungeon." Kendrick eyed Lancelot with a thoughtful look. That prospect alone was enough to turn Raivierra away. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

"Of course." Raivierra offered a sly smile before detaching herself from Lancelot—save for keeping a hold of his arm, and ascended the stairwell with pressing strides. They were not followed. Thank God.

Initially the man struggled to keep up, stumbling over the steps and nearly taking her down with him. Once they were out of earshot, he was obviously still rattled when he spoke. "I um… that was—"

"A really close call?" Raivierra finished matter-of-factly for him, not bothering to look back at him. Not daring to reveal how flustered she truly was.

"Without a doubt." He quietly agreed. "But I meant on your part—a"

"It was quick thinking. And brilliant." She interrupted again. "The… concept." she clarified.

After all, it was nothing. Just as she.

... Right?


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: Hi ya'll. It's been a short while. A week I think. What can I say? It was Spring Break... and you know us stereotypical college kids and our obsession with the beach. But to be honest, the amount of time it took my to post my third installment is much more realistic than the time between chapters 1 & 2 (I think that was 1 1/2 days...). Keep in mind I have class and social stuff going on... but on another note, perhaps another reason it took so long is because I was writing a chapters that happen later in the story. So once I reach that point (if this story lasts that long), updates will probably be coming a lot faster. So keep on it, and enjoy! Oh, and review por favor.**

Just one more day. One last fight. They'd collect the coin, drug that ale—that which had survived her razing, and make off with Guinevere this very night.

… And then what?

Raivierra anxiously twirled her weapons in her hands, savoring the feel of the supple-leathered hilts against her calluses. She reveled in the clamor of the impatient audience awaiting her. Sure, it may come off as brutal, but this was something she was damn well qualified for. Maybe not exactly what she had envisioned… but she had worked for this. Sought this. _Craved_ this.

And Lancelot hadn't been very clear on what would happen after the _dear Lady _was so valiantly snatched from the jaws of a most gruesome death. It was a given that they'd escort her safely back to Camelot… but there had been no mention of anything beyond that. Did he mean for them to stay there? And even if he did, would she?

What, go to Camelot and become a serving girl? A peasant? _Nothing_? Again? Hell, she fit in better with these miscreants. Revolting or no, she had a purpose here. And yet, one word from Lancelot had her sprawling to forfeit it. Her knuckles turned white with the severity of her grip. Her jaw clenched and she uttered a low guttural sound, much like an irritated wildcat. Damn it all!

The barred gate to the 'arena' groaned and grated with the effort of the men hoisting it. About time. Pandemonium clutched at her, drawing her in as she ascended the ramp. Oh! The noise! Deliciously deafening. Chaotic. She topped the shallow incline. Silence. Numbness.

Lancelot.

He stood with his back to her- looking for Guinevere no doubt. His feet were planted firmly. Determinedly. Yet he still managed to appear effortlessly relaxed. Then there was that one small detail. He stood inside the cage. The gate slammed down behind her with the speed of a guillotine. Locking them in. Finally, he turned to face her. Furrowed brows. A look of dismay broke his stoic face. He was her opponent. And she was his.

"Only one of you will come away alive." Hengist recited in a flat tone. "Do you accept this challenge?" Never before had it crossed Raivierra's mind to respond "No."

"What is this!" Lancelot demanded, his handsome face warped with an unfamiliar expression of enmity as he loudly protested. How uncharacteristic of him. Though given the circumstances… it was reasonable.

"This… is something that has long been overdue." Hengist's raspy laugh drew her attention to him. "And who would I be to decline popular request?"

Beside him, Guinevere trembled. Nothing new on that end—though this situation certainly didn't help. Then there was Kendrick. Raivierra could feel his steady gaze boring through her. His smug look was trenchant. And then she knew. That cad had his grimy mitts in this.

"You can't honestly expect us to— " Lancelot started, his voice strained against his inherent level-headedness.

"If you don't accept the terms of the challenge…" Hengist interrupted, maintaining his pleasantly amused composure. He raised a filthy hand, motioning to the gate-handlers. "Then the wilderen will eat well—"

"We accept." Raivierra cut him off, returning Lancelot's distressed look with a pointed one.

"Now there's a good girl." Hengist praised, along with the rest of the room. "And… Lancelot, was it?" The Mercian's lips curved into a smirk while Lancelot deadpanned. "I can see reason for your concern." He gestured sharply at Raivierra. "This one doesn't play games." Raivierra could feel his bawdy gaze rake over her. "Unlike you, she strikes to kill."

She averted her eyes, focusing on grinding the toe of her boot into the dusty floor. Testing the traction. Taking her mind away from all this. Just another fight. Another victim. Just slit the clod's throat and be done with it.

But it had to be Lancelot.

Damn it. Nothing can ever be so simple. Only when it all goes to hell, does this forsaken world maintain order. When she looked up, she found Lancelot to be stagnant. His gaze as well as his body. Those sad eyes. That tense jaw. Arms limp by his sides. She took a breath. And charged. No bow. No respectful crossing of swords. No warning. This was not the place for such formalities.

Her short sword jabbed viciously at his abdomen. He sidestepped the attack. Her longsword flicked out at his legs. He jumped. She immediately whipped it upwards at him. He slapped it away with his own broadsword dodged to the side. Only then did she notice he had finally armed himself. She lingered a moment too long on that thought… yet no stinging metal bit at her. Turning with him, her longsword slashed diagonally across his torso, left hip to opposite shoulder. He flinched and leapt backwards, disengaging again. She pursued him—a feral instinct guiding her in for the kill. His back was against the bars. Her prey was trapped. Keeping her movements fluid, she stuck her short swords between the cage bars, just to Lancelot's right. Locking him there. Her longsword bore down on the man's head.

But this was Lancelot. And he wasn't trying.

She stopped mid-stroke and instead struck him above the ear with the pommel of her weapon. "Fight me!" She growled, grabbing a hold of Lancelot's tunic. Receiving no response, she jerked him roughly towards the center of the ring, pouncing on his back when he lost his balance.

"I… cannot." Lancelot finally returned in a defeated tone. "I will not." A bit more life to it that time.

Raivierra dragged him to his feet by his neck, her right forearm securing a choke-hold of sorts—with the blade of her sword threateningly close to his throat. "I suggest you _find_ the will." She hissed into his ear.

"I will not harm you. Do not ask me to." He asserted stubbornly, though he now moved with her and his head was reared back stiffly against her chest, wary of her weapon's deadly promise.

"Damn it, Lancelot!" Raivierra growled and released her hold on the man—not that he had made any real effort to escape.

He stumbled forwards, lazily turning to face her again. Around them the crowd voiced its collective disapproval. They wanted a fight. They wanted a bloodbath. She gave one quick thrust of her short sword, met only with the resistance of his chainmail. She drove the point deep into his flank. At least, that's what it looked like—She kept the strike as shallow as possible, pressing her body against his to give the illusion of depth.

"If I show you mercy, I may very well die along with you." She warned again... pleading with him.

"Then I beg you." He turned those somber eyes down upon her. "Do not." A little extra weight on the length of her weapon. His hand ... now bleeding profusely from the intensity of his clamp on the shaft of her short sword. Raivierra suddenly lurched forwards- he had jerked the blade further into his side.

Horror flooded Raivierra's senses. No. No no no no! This wasn't supposed to happen! He was supposed to save his Guinevere and flee to Camelot. He was supposed to be the hero. He gasped. Her knees grew weak. He coughed, his lips leaking a thick crimson fluid. She eased the blade from out of the wound- slippery with his life. He grunted. And then he smiled. An artificial little token. Taut with the agony he tried so painstakingly tried to hide.

"What good are you to her, dead?" Her voice cracked with the inquiry. So much for the embodiment of unrelenting ferocity. Just a fragile shell, on the verge of breaking. All at once his weight was on her. Lancelot slumped over her, as if standing on his own was too great an effort. "I entrust... Guinevere's safety to you." He grunted out the words.

She backed away, letting him fall to his knees. This was familiar. All of it. Too damn familiar. Though this time, his dreary eyes were cocoa, not cerulean. And his tousled hair was an auburn mess, not fawn. But the fear. And the blood. And the dying... by her hand. It was happening again.

Fight or flight. She needed to run. Run to where? The gate would only open when one of two things happened. And Lancelot was already well on his way to fulfilling the first condition.

"Finish him!" The Mercian bandits around them demanded in relative unison. Finally, their bloodlust would be satisfied. At least for a time.

She cautiously stalked up to him. She trembled. She needed a steady hand to make this as clean as possible. He raised his bleak eyes to her one last time. She stopped in her tracks. Damn it Lancelot. This was hard enough as is. She clenched her jaw and pressed on.

It needed to be done.

She tossed her weapons between her hands, trading her short sword to her right. With one swift movement Raivierra plunged the stockier sword into the right side of Lancelot's neck. His eyes widened and his jaw hung loosely. She withdrew her weapon, matching his gaze until the moment his eyes rolled back into his head. He crumpled to the ground; his blood-smeared face caked with dirt on one side. Blood trickled slowly from the slit in his neck. Thank God.

She turned slowly from his still body, deaf to the acclamation of the assembly. Numb, as she crossed over the threshold and weaved through the muster to Hengist's table. Guinevere had slouched into the back of her chair. As if her spine had lost all strength to it. And her face. The way her lips parted. The way she stared desolately into the cage... she was appalled. She made no endeavor to hide that she had wished Lancelot to be in Raivierra's place. "It's not as if I'm glad of it either..." Raivierra muttered under her breath before plastering on an apathetic mask.

"Ah, my dear. You never disappoint." Hengist proclaimed loudly. "Watching him squirm before ending it? That is just sick." He laughed fervidly and looked to Guinevere, whose breathing was shallow.

"I have one request" Raivierra stated flatly. From the corner of her eye she watched a few of Hengist's henchmen collect Lancelot's body.

"Now now... you know I don't act at the behest of my performers..." He glanced at Lancelot's corpse. "But you've got me curious."

No hesitation on her end. "I want my coin."

**Note: Didn't expect that, did ya? So, I'm ending it here... I had planned to make it longer but this is a nice breaking point, I think. Hope ya'll enjoyed it! R&R, and **_**maybe **_**I'll update quicker, yes? And a little critique would be greatly appreciated. Gratzi.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: Alright. This is the Highly anticipated (haha, who am I kidding? ;P) 4****th**** chapter to the story. Clearly. Like I said… week-long intervals are really realistic for my updates. You know… like series episodes ****. Those of you that have stayed on, thanks for your patience—and I'm glad ya'll enjoy my story thus-far. I really do appreciate those of ya'll that have reviewed. As well as those of y'all that have "favorited" this story and/or added it to alerts. It's real flattering. Anywho, as always, hope ya'll enjoy! R&R 3.**

Wind lashed her face numb. The sound of pounding hoofbeats rapped against her sensitive ears. Her eyes squinted against the abuse. Her exhausted legs had long ago forgotten the limits of their endurance. Her mind, lost to the pain—or rather, lack there-of. Pure ecstasy. But now was not the time for respite. Time was of the essence.

Below her, nearly three-quarters ton of pure muscle rippled in smooth harmony under a glistening ebon coat. She leaned against a thick neck, fingers knotted in an unruly onyx mane. Her thighs hugged the saddle blanket haphazardly draped over the stallion's back. A massive head strained against the taut reins, wide nostrils flaring with every fourth hoof fall. "Easy, Love." Those two soothing words coaxed the equine into a rhythmic breathing. Yet his strides lengthened. His neck extended further with his hastened gait.

Hengist had spoken true. Well, partially. Only one had walked away from the fight. The other was carried out. Unconscious, yes… but very much alive. Well, at this point, probably barely alive. Raivierra was no fool. Lancelot's vulnerable neck had been her target from the start. A perfect pinpoint strike. A steady hand. Her chest swelled with pride—no. Not now.

She had killed enough men to know which wounds inflicted a fatality… and the fact that the puncture hadn't spouted a geyser of blood was reassuring. It was that abdominal affliction that gave her reason to worry. That gave every second of this short journey the value of a priceless gem. He'd bleed out dry if left unattended; a lot of incentive for the wilderen.

The wilderin. The yawning caverns appeared on the precipice of the vast wall the duo had been skirting. The wilderin's lair. Their nest. Whatever you wanted to call it, it housed those grotesque beasts… not to mention their pungent odor. Loki slowed to a trot, independent of her command. He snorted, rattling the reins as he shook his head in disgust. The overwhelming scent of blood lingered in the air, clouding over the stockpile of bodies. All losers in Hengist's arena. Raivierra's gaze scrupulously dusted the treeline that bordered the clearing. No bandits about. Not a thing stirred for acres. That would be soon to change.

Feeding time.

Swine-like screams echoed from the confines of the grottos, announcing the arrival of the overgrown rats. As Raivierra and her equine companion came within four-hundred paces of the heap of corpses, she swung her right leg over the horse's back, dropping down his left barrel. Standing tall by the nearly-twenty-hand steed, she reached up to the twin burlap saddlebags thrown over his loins. Tossing the burden across her own shoulders, she meticulously drew the modest dagger from her boot.

A violent clinking of the reins. An agitated chomp on the bit. A cautionary whinny coupled with restless dancing of hooves.

"Easy, Loki." Raivierra murmured, looking up in time to see putrid pink and grey shriveled bodies emerging from the dens.

Shrill squeals once again grated against her ears. Whiskered snouts lifted to the air in unison, fanged mouths gaping open—savoring the _taste _ofblood on the gentle breeze. A few satisfied grunts… and then the colossal vermin made a beeline for what Raivierra had deemed 'the carcass buffet'. She had to admit… they certainly were extraordinarily fast for their hulking size. But so was Loki.

"Forgive me." Again, her voice was a whisper. Swiftly taking the knife to Loki's flank, she ignored his protesting whinny, pushing his biting head away. She carved a notable line along the horse's ribs, making certain the cut drained plentiful blood.

Already the wilderin had begun feasting on the first corpses they had come to. The sound of ripping flesh, popping blood vessels, and tearing of tendons generously seasoned the clearing. _Hopefully _Lancelot wasn't among the appetizers.

"Teach them to run." She spoke firmly into the horse's swiveling ears. Having said her piece, she moved back and slapped the stallion's rump.

Loki took off into a wild gallop, nearly tripping out of his standstill. The stallion screamed like a beast possessed as he rocketed straight towards the cluster of wilderin. The wilderin were intent on finishing their free meal, seemingly oblivious to the intruder. All of the horse's bulk barreled into the first wilderin with the speed of a ballista bolt. That got their attention. The two went tumbling, pursued by the other four wilderin. Loki was first to regain his legs, only to be backed up by two sets of bared teeth. He reared up on his hind legs, his forelegs wildly swinging as he came down. A sickening crack resonated throughout the heath—even reaching Raivierra on the other side of the field. His hooves had scored a solid hit, splitting a wilderin's skull. He was then bowled over by an elephantine body paired with gnashing jaws. He rolled onto his legs once again, and rose, neighing and bolting into the deep thicket with the predators streaking after him.

"Attaboy." Raivierra praised, tentatively crossing the field once the wilderin were out of sight. It wasn't that she didn't care about the stallion. She was simply confident. No way would those gluttonous pigs outrun that fiend borne of alacrity. Hell, he was her lifeline and hellion all in one—she'd lost count of how many times she had depended on him.

But right now, the one that needed her was Lancelot. That is, if he was still around. She slowed when she reached the collection of mutilated corpses. Stray body parts littered the ground. She picked her way through the would-be graveyard, stooping every-so-often to turn bodies over. Clean decapitations were the telltale signs of dismemberments by cleaving blades. Then there were the others. Torsos ripped in half. Faces ribboned into pulverized meat. At least, she assumed they were faces. They had eyes. Those _were _eyes, right?

"Damn it…" she growled, her stops becoming increasingly brief. Once the wilderin fell too far behind- once they gave up the hunt, they would return. They would find her. And they would…she had to get away before- no.

If she left, what little chance Lancelot had now would be discarded. As would he. But there he was. She'd nearly missed him; he was hard to recognize, face down and stripped of his chainmail- left in bloodied commoner's clothing.

"Lancelot!" Raivierra let out a cry of relief, knowing all-too-well that she would get no answer. She harried to him and felt under his neck for a pulse. And waited. A rustle of brush made her jump. Something quivered under her fingers.

His pulse.

She gasped out the breath she didn't realize she had been holding. It was faint. But he was _alive_. She positioned her feet on either side of his body and hauled him to his feet by his armpits, forcing his limp body to stand against her. Turning him around in her arms, she knelt before him, dropping the saddlebags from her upper back to an awkward nest in the crook of her left elbow. As he leaned over her, she dipped her shoulder against his abdomen, lifting him across first one, then both shoulders. She stood, grunting with the effort. Looping her right arm in between his legs at the knees, she grasped his forearm that dangled across her chest, locking-in her hold on the man.

Raivierra trotted towards the sanctuary promised by the thick canopy of the trees. If they were to stay out in the open, either the wilderin would find them easy prey, or Hengist's scouts would fell them. This detour was longer, yes, but it at least offered some coverage… though the wilderin would _still _find them an effortless snack. Lovely. She panted lightly, weaving between thick tree trunks. Not to mention they'd be _walking_ back.

After several moments (bordering on eternity with her anxiety) of trekking through the forest, Raivierra stumbled abruptly, dropping to her knees. Her right leg spasmed intensely again, still fragile from the day before. A sharp pang shot up to her hip when she defiantly rose to her feet. She needed Lancelot stable. She needed him awake.

Taking refuge by an old uprooted tree, she unwrapped Lancelot from her shoulders (her taut muscles grateful for the reprieve), sitting him against the rough trunk. Flipping the wing of the left saddlebag open, Raivierra gingerly reached into the pouch, peeking into the sack as she shuffled its contents. Giving a frustrated groan, she turned it upside down, spilling its contents onto the ground already cluttered with dried leaves and twigs. What little light that managed to seep through the canopy struck the collection of bottles, bouncing frantically across their glass shells.

Medicine. 'Borrowed' from Hengist's coffers. A pleased smirk tempted the corners of her lips. These would fetch a lavish price on the market. And it wasn't as if the hoggish lout would think to _waste _them on treating his combatants.

Sorting through the vials, Raivierra's hands landed on a flat tub filled with a yellow cream and a fat flask of greenish liquid. A simple healing salve and… she popped the stopper on the flask, cautiously sniffing at its rim. A potent herbal aroma made her gag. Treacle. Perfect. She inched closer to Lancelot and gently pulled his shirt up and over his head, tossing the garment aside. The gaping gash in his abdomen greeted her. His raw, red flesh speckled with a darker color where his body attempted to mend itself. Swallowing the lump in her throat along with her grimace, she snatched her waterskin from the ground and drizzled it over Lancelot's wound.

No response. She then unscrewed the top of the tub and scooped a liberal amount of the thick unguent up with her fingers. She delicately touched the lips of the gouge. Still nothing. She proceeded to pack the wound with the balm, preventing further blood loss—smoothing salve over the incision on his neck as an afterthought to checking his pulse once more. Reaching into the right saddlebag, she retrieved her spare linen shirt and swiftly ripped it into two bands. She secured one around his belly and fastened the other around his neck. So far, so good. She then tilted his scruffy chin up with one hand, pouring the Treacle elixir onto his lips.

It would work. She convinced herself of that. It was strong. _He _was strong.

His lips moved. His eyes moved under closed lids. He stirred. She rained some of the waterskin onto his smudged face. He sputtered and coughed. Raivierra threw her head back, thanking the heavens. When she looked back at him, his dark eyes were open and fearful. His hand went for his misplaced sword, then with a groan of agony, to his crudely-bandaged abdomen.

"Don't." Raivierra grasped his hand and pulled it away. "It's nowhere near decent." She cautioned. "But it's the best I could do."

Lancelot was distracted, surveying his surroundings. His hands went to his chest then his shoulders. As if he couldn't believe he was hearing, and seeing, and feeling… "Where—how—a" His voice was hoarse, his baffled eyes faring better at conveying his message.

"It's alright. I've got you now." She spoke soothingly, offering him the waterskin. She smiled slightly as she watched him greedily drink his fill; his dazed condition becoming contagious.

"Yes, and you got me good right here…" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and felt his neck for where she had stabbed him. "How am I—how are we both—we had too—I told you to… You kil—" his thoughts ran together in a hopelessly jumbled mess.

"You know I never listen—_especially _not when there's something to be done. I had to make it look real, Lancelot." She interrupted him, catching his hand again. "I had to make them think you were dead… I apolo-"

"Apologize? You apologize?" It was Lancelot's turn to interject. "You saved my life." His hand fell on her shoulder and she relaxed under his touch. Just for a moment. "You've done all of this, when I'd given up. Apologize for nothing." He took her in a friendly one-armed embrace. "I can't express… how am I expected to repay you?"

She gingerly returned the gesture, careful not to disturb his dressings. She gently pushed him back, holding him at arms-length. "You owe me nothing."

"Rai…"He opened his mouth as if to say something. His eyes went soft. He reclined slightly against the log. There was something too his voice. Something never there before. It was tender. Caressing…

The moment passed.

His shoulders became rigid. His slack jaw set. He sat up sharply, flinching and holding his side with the suddenness of the movement. He turned a somber eye on her. "Where's Guinevere?"

Her face fell. She turned away and busied herself with repacking the medicine to hide her chagrin. She wasn't an idiot. While that poor girl was still in danger, she'd remain the priority…but couldn't it have lasted just a while longer? "She's waiting for us in the keep's dungeon." She replied flatly.

"Then why are we-? We must go to her at once." He slowly climbed to his feet, wincing and holding his gut. Raivierra scurried to steady him, allowing him to lean heavily on her.

"I thought you'd want to be prepared." She plucked a set of chainmail and the rest of his garb from the right saddlebag.

He gave her an appreciative look and accepted the offering. "What would I do without you?" he asked rhetorically as he began to suit up.

He'd asked her that same question a number of times. As for the answer…well, that could go one of two ways. He'd either be dead long ago… or completely better off. After all, _she_ was the reason for his involvement with Hengist. And this was _just one_ instance. Good God. A small smirk played across her face as she helped the links of the armor settle across his broad back. "I've stashed a cache of weapons by the stables. We'll need them." Her voice was deceivingly pensive.

He turned around, nearly falling on her as he tugged on his tunic in an effort to get it to sit just right. "Raivierra. There's just one last thing I could hope to ask of you."

Well, Hell. They were about to attempt an impossible escape from a dungeon whose only immediate exit was through tunnels infested with wilderin. Not even under the cover of night. And there was always the (probable) chance that they were caught. If that happened, they'd face down a legion of bandits with a timid serving girl, a heinously wounded man… and herself. Wonderful. Chances were, this _would be _the last thing he'd _ever _ask of her.

She scoffed to herself. "Anything."

**Yet another twist =). Lancelot lives! I'm sure a few of you will be glad of that—especially if anyone was thinking of bailing after I killed off a lovely main character haha. Stay tuned for next week (or hopefully sooner—I'm already halfway into the next chapter) **

**Suzie0821: Thank you kindly. I've actually **_**just **_**decided who she will go with. So ya'll will be finding out pretty soon =). And as for your other comment: nope. Not a dream. But No dead Lancelot either =). Essentially, she intentionally struck shy of the carotid artery (which probably shouldn't have worked… but that's what fantasy is, yes? :P. **

**Undecided89: Thank you. I do try to stay away from "Mary Sue" characters. I'm glad (at least to you) that I have succeeded to some extent.**

**Corruption Tickles: Why aloha—nice to see one of my readers from another story. And thank you for the compliments. As for the other guy… you'll find out about him. Honestly though, it would be in the distant future. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: Sorry ya'll for such a painfully long wait. But I hope the attention I put into this installment (and the teaser I gave ya'll) will at least some-what make up for it. Hope Ya'll enjoy. And always, Read and Review, por favor. Seriously. Come on, Ya'll. I see how many hits and visitors I get to this story… and all the "alert/favorite" notices… and yet there's a grand total of 3 users that have submitted reviews. Throw me a bone, here?**

Sleep evaded Raivierra like a pigeon hovering just beyond striking range of an irritated cat. Waiting. Eyes closed. Head nestled deep into the moth-gnawed pillow. Waiting. Her breaths came slow and measured, trying to coax herself to sleep.

But how could she?

"Stay behind. If something should happen, we'll need you here." Raivierra muttered, her tone barbed as she recalled exactly what Lancelot had asked of her. She cursed under her breath. "More like _when _something happens, you jump in and save our arses."

Simply and honestly, she was exhausted. What, with the intended battle to the death, that sad little rescue operation… then having to reject the clods that offered to 'comfort' her. Sure, some were dismissed with vicious threats to their manhood, but others were persuaded by nothing short of a blade at their throat. She threw her head back against the mattress and forcefully shut her eyes. She was done with it all. Spent.

But the day was not yet through with her.

Rapid breathing. Boots scuffing impatiently on stone flooring. Someone was watching her. Trying to get her attention. And whoever he was, he dared not venture further than the doorway. Smart man.

"You have five seconds before I take my frustrations out on you." She warned, making no effort to move.

"And what frustrations are we talking about?" The man's gruff voice was laden with suggestion.

"The kind where I make you bleed." That was sure to clear up any ambiguities running through his desperate mind.

There was a brief silence on his end. Raivierra smirked. Struck a chord of fear in his bloated belly? "Well…" She heard him clear his throat. Hear him swallow. Could imagine him sweating. "Well there's something you'll want to see." There was a hint of strained laughter in his voice. Odd. A gruff grunt sounded his departure.

Raivierra reluctantly sat up, smoothing her hands over the sheets and catching up the dagger settled to her right. What could she be interested in? She slowly opened her eyes—not even a tad groggy. Watching a bunch of brutes gut each other never got old. But the fights had ended hours ago. She hadn't seen Kendrick around in a while. Maybe the rumors were true…maybe Hengist _did _feed him to the wilderin. Well damn. So much for getting to waste the clod.

Kicking her feet off the side of the bed, she sat there a moment. Rolling through the possibilities in her mind. Oh bloody hell. She groaned and rubbed her temples with her thumbs. Already? Seriously? It'd been but two hours? Maybe three? Or had she really lost track of time. Nope. They really where _that _pathetic. She stood and made for the hallway, tucking the small knife underneath the band on her forearm.

Well, it wasn't really Lancelot's fault. A gust of cool air greeted her as she passed through the doorway. The man was formidable. There was no question of that. Hell, if he wasn't, she wouldn't be drawn to him like she was. But not when it came to this. He was neither ruffian nor vagabond. No _bandit_. All those things… she'd use them all to label herself. But definitely not him. Her footsteps reverberated around her in the barren corridor.

Lancelot was simply a victim of circumstance. As she saw it, he'd been mistakenly made a commoner. The way in which he walked and spoke. His damned embodiment of chivalry. Tell-tale signs of nobility.

And that Guinevere. The last thing he needed when attempting an escape, was a distraction like her. Excellent.

Raivierra rounded a corner, greeted by boisterous laughter and jeers. Her hands instinctively fondled the hilts of her swords. Even _she _wasn't too keen on surrounding herself with this company. The common room proved the passageway to be muffled.

The common room was packed with Hengist's henchmen. Gathered about the cage like a pack of hungry wolves waiting for their alpha to invite them in for their share of the kill. She had an inkling as to what they would be feasting on. Whose blood would make the entrée for the always-ravenous wilderin. She shouldered and shoved her way through the crowd, cursing and growling at those that stood between her and the familiar cage. Aggression was the only way to gain respect around here.

She soon found herself pinched between two burly men, preventing her from progressing any further. But she still caught a glimpse of the figure slumped over on the stained flooring behind the bars. A head of dark, wet hair. Short. A man's. Sure enough, it was Lancelot. His head was down and his knees buckled beneath him. And he had yet to see her.

Before she could move to get his attention, a man grabbed her fisted hand. Had she not recognized him as Hengist's second, she would have retaliated. Her free hand replaced the shortsword to its sheath. Well, Kendrick was certainly dead.

"Hengist requests you presence." The man muttered, then proceeded to drag her after him.

"Well, this is hardly _requesting_, don't you think?" Raivierra shot back smartly, struggling to maintain her balance as he led her to the opposite side of the ring, where several mean mustered protectively around Hengist. She laughed inwardly. Smart man; he didn't trust his own lot of vandals.

"So tell me. Was it worth it?" Hengist's voice boomed as she approached with her 'escort'. "Losing your life so that serving wench could get away?" The ring-leader's voice silenced his unruly followers.

"Guinevere…" Lancelot's weak murmur reached her. "Guinevere matters more to me than you could ever hope to understand." It was stronger that time. Strong enough to lift his hanging head. Strong enough to alight his dark eyes. To dampen Raivierra's own spirit. Even further, that is.

Raivierra tore her gaze from Lancelot's beaten figure to look at Hengist. The room had grown eerily silent. A discomforting smug look had settled across Hengist's face. ".. Then you'll be glad to see her again."

The gate to the underground cavern inched up with the efforts of two of Hengist's henchmen heaving on the well-worn rope. Frightened gasps ascended the ramp first—the one Raivierra had climbed countless times. Curly, untamed hair announced the arrival of a shivering, whimpering Guinevere.

"Lancelot!" She cried out, stumbling towards her intended savior—forced to her knees by two brutes that beat a hasty retreat through the door into the (relative) safety of the common room.

"Guinevere…" the look of dismay on Lancelot's face was unmissable.

"I am sorry, Lancelot." Guinevere mewled, her throat clearly taut with fear. She scooted backwards, seeking Lancelot's body for some sort of comfort. His fingers found hers, becoming a tangled mess.

Raivierra groaned, dismissing her own cloaked woes through focusing on the task at hand. "You've got to be kidding me," she growled irately. By some stroke of _genius_ luck, she may have managed to find a way to spring one of them. But both? She might as well make a run for it and name it a lost cause.

"No…" Lancelot's shoulders caved and he leaned against Guinevere, using the cowering woman for support. As if his spine had been ripped from his back. Guinevere as well—though from what Raivierra had seen, that woman had none to begin with.

"I am sorry, Lancelot." Guinevere repeated herself, tears brimming at her lashes.

"You failed her, boy." Hengist cruelly interrupted, his voice even hinting at a chuckle. "And _you_," Hengist had suddenly spun around, bringing his snarling face inches from Raivierra's. "Tell me. What is wrong with this picture?"

Raivierra drew back slightly, like a cat preparing to launch itself at an irritant that dared disturb its rest. She glanced briefly at Lancelot, who just now took notice of her presence. His parted lips were a clue to that. "It's not my fault he doesn't know how to die," she responded coldly, turning sharp eyes back on Hengist.

"Oh, he'll be learning. Don't you worry." Hengist smirked, beady eyes searching her face. Scrutinizing every bit of it. Waiting for a giveaway reaction. He would get none.

"Excellent," she tried to pull her wrist free of the lazy grip, but to no avail. "Then I assume I'll be the one to teach him to stay dow—"

"Oh, I don't think so." Hengist drawled. "With you doing the deed, he may rise from the dead again." He gave a curt nod to the robust lad at Raivierra's right.

The loose grip on her arm suddenly grew claw-like, and the recipient of Hengist's gesture snatched up her free bicep.

Raivierra growled, trying to wrench her arms free—either one and she'd be satisfied. But to no avail. "I swear, I don't know how the lout survived."

"You really expect me to believe that?" His calloused hand shot out, gripping her neck just below her jaw.

"Leave her be!" Lancelot demanded, and Raivierra could see him struggle against the binds that held his hands. Not just for show.

That had an adverse effect on Hengist. Egged him on. His hold on her neck became vise-like, his jagged nails digging into her skin. Suffocating. "You really think I'm that stupid to not see when I'm being robbed blind?" Spittle slapped against her face and gray dizzied her vision.

She opened her mouth to reply, and let out a feeble croak. That haze was enveloping her now. Her mouth dropped open, trying to draw in a breath that wouldn't make it past her tongue. Again, she heard Lancelot shouting something or another. Slurred and incoherent. Or maybe that was just her. The furious look that contorted Hengist's face and what she imagined were curses he was shouting, told her it was.

Air filled her lungs by way of a long-drawn inhalation. Hengist had withdrawn his hand. He wanted to drag this out. What an arse. Raivierra stretched out her jaw, nursing the muscles with oxygen before attempting to speak. "I don't—"

Another man approached her from behind, carrying Loki's saddlebags that she had stashed by the stables. They rattled and clinked with their contents. "A good year's worth of medicines and tonics, sir."

Well, hell. So much for denial. "I can explain that." Raivierra flinched away from Hengist, favoring her fragile neck. No attack came. The silence was far more ferocious. "… What—so why not throw me in there with them?" that was as close to a confession as she'd give.

"You'll get yours…" Hengist hesitated and sneered. Unsettling. "Once my boys tire of you." A symphony of cheers followed that. Along with Raivierra's grimace.

"I won't allow that." Evidently, Lancelot had to get in on this. Had to be the hero. At least try to.

"Oh?" Hengist sneered, pressing his face up against the bars; as would a child tormenting a captive bear. "And tell me what exactly you can do from there, _boy_." He laughed wickedly at the now mute Lancelot. "You got your wench. This one's mine."

Had she _really _been paying attention, Raivierra would have found a way to remove his tongue, slit his throat, or castrated him on the spot. Or all three. But again, it was Lancelot who held her focus.

Remorse. Guilt. She had to avert her eyes—'lest he convince her that she truly was done here. That _they _would end it here. She recognized the grating sound of the cage's gate being hoisted. Wilderin.

A twitching snout appeared. Followed by the giant wrinkled body. Plump as he was, this creature was famished. He bared his buck-tooth fangs and let forth a shrill squeal. Guinevere's scream matched—and even surpassed it. The rat turned a blind (literally) eye on her and stalked towards the couple.

The heel of Raivierra's right boot found the sensitive toes of the man holding her upper arm. The moment he keeled over—the moment his grip loosened, she let fly a wild back-elbow. It connected with the man's nose. The angle of impact sent him stumbling backwards, holding his leaking injury… and then collapsing in a heap.

So close to being free.

With a quick jerk of her unfettered arm, the knife strapped to her forearm slid down into her grip. The man still holding her had yet to react. And he wouldn't get the chance to.

The blade of her knife flashed across his neck, leaving him sputtering and clutching. Her leg spun out and around her, tripping up Hengist and the others that stood in her immediate vicinity. A running start. A leap, and she was on the cage. Pulling herself up along the cold steel bars.

Something struck her in the back. Just below her left shoulder blade. A strangely biting… _punch_?

Whatever it was, it didn't matter now. Undeterred, she hauled herself to the top of the fence, her left arm going numb. Taking a moment before her descent, she tossed the knife in her hand in Lancelot's direction. Drawing her swords from their scabbards, she gathered her legs beneath her, and…

Fell.

Something—or _someone _had shaken the fence with a tremendous force, upsetting her balance. Something soft and leathery cushioned her fall.

Before the startled wilderin could shed her, she planted her swords in the creature and held on for dear life. Her strained muscles resisted buck. After buck. Twisting her blades deeper into the vermin's hide, her mind resisted Cowardice as the giant head twisted violently around, snapping at her.

Someone shouted her name. A thud meant someone else had dropped into the cage. Another yell. A scream. Guinevere was still alive.

The beast's blood painted her face. Slickened the hilts of her swords. Made her lose her grip on one furious throw. Then she was in the air. That was over quickly. A cry erupted from her mouth as the whole of her backside slammed into the bars of the cage. The concussing blow to her head sent her mind reeling.

She propped herself up on her forearms and rose to her feet defiantly. Ready to face the beast that now advanced on her. She'd fight this bastard bare-handed.

At least, in her mind, she was up and able. In reality, she was blinking rapidly and shaking her head, trying to clear it. Hands scrabbling on the stone floor—searching for weapons that weren't there. But she'd gotten one thing right.

The wilderin was coming at her.

"Hey!" An unfamiliar voice called out, clanging steel (most likely a sword) against the flooring. Drawing the creature's attention.

Two arms hooked under her armpits. A lanky form with a thin face loomed over her. Saying something. After struggling a bit with her weight, they dragged her out of harm's way. Down the ramp that led into the caverns. Their escape route.

Someone sprinted past her. Their boots stirring up the dust by her face. A man. Then another. Lighter steps. Guinevere.

"Is she alright?" Lancelot's voice rang through clearly to her.

"Just splendid." She intended to reply. What she heard was slurred blubbering. Lovely.

Then the black smog engulfed her.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Cold embraced her. Chilled her. Her body quivered independent of her will. Crackling and spitting warmth lapped at her from one direction. A fire. Dewey blades of grass caressed her back. Jagged twigs and broken stones prodded it. The scent of tangy steel filled her senses. Quiet voices nursed her sore head and bruised ego. Prickly whiskers tickled her nose. Then her forehead. And eyelid. She groaned and raised her arm—finally having regained control of it, and pushed away Loki's curious muzzle.

A whinny of protest forced open her bleary eyes.

Still daylight.

Rolling onto her side, she gave a hiss. A sharp pang radiated from her shoulder. Looking down, she found cotton bandages hidden under her sleeveless linen top. Wait. Where was-? Ah. There. Her frantic eyes spotted her leather armor a few yards away, nestled by an unnamed man.

She caught his gaze. Blue and proudly gleaming under tousled blonde hair. Strong chiseled features. Hard-set jaw. Well-built, if his clothes weren't too deceiving. Handsome in every right. And now he rose, walking towards her.

"Easy now. You've been wounded," it wasn't him that spoke. This voice was far too boyish to suit him. She craned her neck around to find another man cautiously adjusting the dressings over her shoulder. Thin-framed and cropped dark hair settled over a pair of dark blue eyes and a narrow, pale face. He had to be the one that saved her.

"I noticed that, thanks." Raivierra scoffed out a sarcastic reply.

"A crossbow bolt. Close range." This voice was deeper. Stronger. Assertive. Swiveling her head around, she found that the blonde had approached her. He offered a tight-lipped smile, "You're lucky."

"Really?" Raivierra sat up; ignoring the other man's advise. "Strange how I'm not feeling particularly appreciative of it then."

This warranted a stern look from the blonde. And a stifled chuckle from the dark-haired fellow.

"But I suppose I _should _thank the two of you." She reluctantly admitted.

"Thank us? You were _incredible_! I mean, who leaps on a wilderin!" The pale-faced boy praised, his voice flooding with admiration. "That takes some serious cour—"

"Stupidity." the blonde cut him off. "You nearly broke your back." he observed, referencing her affair with the cage bars. Just the _thought_ of having her bones crack and pop like they did… oh how it made her shudder. "Not to mention. You could've had your head bitten clear off."

"Well _I _think it was _brilliant_." The smaller man came to her defense before she could.

"Yes well…" the flaxen-haired man eyed her up and down thoughtfully. "You _would _think that, _Mer_lin." He left the tease hanging in the air as he strolled back to where Guinevere was packing up camp.

"Don't mind him." Merlin's voice was soothing. "As a Prince, Arthur _has _to be a prat." He gave a toothy grin at that.

Raivierra's eyes went wide. "Prince Arthur?" She looked after the retreating Arthur. "As in, Prince Arthur of Camelot?" she queried in awe.

"That's the one." Merlin followed her gaze for a moment before looking back at her and extending his hand. "I'm Merlin."

"I got that." She replied curtly, dismissing the offering with a wave of her hand. Raivierra let out a short nervous laugh, "And why in all of Albion would a _Prince_ run headlong into a clan of crooks that have a bounty on his head?"

"Boun…ty?" Merlin sounded out the word. It was clear he had clue as to the real danger they had placed themselves in. He shook his head, trying to decide how to respond, "It's ermm… complicated."

"Raivierra." She stated absently, watching Arthur through narrowed eyes.

"Yes… I'm sorry, what?" Merlin asked awkwardly.

"My name." She glanced back at Merlin and gave a wry smile. He was kind. And witty. And blubbering. Innocent would be one way to put it. Rare in this world. Refreshing.

"Ah, yes. I know." He nodded approvingly and continued fussing with her bandages. He jumped, as if something had given him a start. "Uh- I mean, _we _know." He made a gesture with his hands, encompassing the entire party. "B-Because Lancelot told us." He nervously stuttered over his words.

"And he left you with these." Two large, jingling pouches flew at her along with Arthur's interruption. Raivierra warily eyed the coin purses landed conveniently by her hand. "They're yours, he said." Arthur flashed a forced look of surprise.

Raivierra turned one pouch over in her hand. Heavier than it should have been. Fatter too. Wait. Her eyes went wide again and her lips parted. She looked back at Merlin in alarm, "What do you mean he _left _me these?"

"Uh…" The apologetic look on the man's face said it all. "Lancelot felt it would be to everyone's best interest if he were to…"

"Abandon me." Raivierra finished for him. Looking away at her cleaned weapons by her feet, her jaw clenched and she shook her head. She could feel Merlin's sympathetic eyes on her. "Everyone's best interest? He called on my three times in less than a day." She turned back to Merlin, her mouth hanging with restrained indignation. Well, frustration more than anything. "Three times, he needed _my _help—in less than twenty-four hours." She swallowed away some of her growing irritation. "How is his vulnerability in everyone's _best interest_?"

Merlin was silent for a moment, letting her quick temper simmer. "And that's why he made his leave while you were out." He pursed his lips and sighed. "Something about you trying to stop him?"

Raivierra stood, leaning on Merlin to steady herself. "And so what am I supposed to do with a bit of coin and a horse?" She ambled to Loki's flank, stroking his neck in an effort to calm herself.

"Eat well for a week and then buy another?" Merlin joked. His laughter choked itself off when he realized she found no humor in it. He cleared his throat and replied hesitantly, "Erm… well Lancelot thought…"

"He does do an awful lot of that for where it doesn't concern him, doesn't he?" Raivierra bit back her ire a bit too late. Come now. She'd keep herself composed.

"I suppose?" Merlin replied; more of a question than an agreement. "Yes. Well. He thought you might come to Camelot. With- With us." He flinched away at his last words, as if she might lash out at him.

Raivierra stared intently into Loki's unusually becalming brown eye. She let Merlin squirm, waiting for an answer. Lancelot was gone. Didn't want her with him. That page of her life was done and over with. It _could _be as simple as that, right? Patting the stallion's cheek, she turned to face Merlin. Resigned.

"Well, I _do _owe you."

**Note: Well that's it for now, kiddies. And not-so-kiddies. Hope ya'll enjoyed. And if ya'll catch typos and mistakes (which I'm sure there are some. This is by far the longest chapter I've done), feel free to let me know so I can fix it up. Ya'll know, reviews **_**may **_**encourage me to devote more time to this thing… which means faster updates. If you catch my drift ;). Peace. **


	6. Author's Note

Hey ladies and fellas. I'm just letting ya'll know that I am already halfway into the next chapter.

And I've moved the teaser. It's now on its own—I might add to it and make a collection of teasers. Depending on how many I release. I didn't want to keep it here because it just made the updating and rearranging way more complicated than it had to be.

So if you skipped chapter 5 thinking it's still "fastforward", go back. Chapter 5 is no longer the teaser, but rather, the newest (and long-awaited) chronological update that depicts the end of Hengist's role in my story.

Thanks for staying on with me. Peace.


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: Aye. Sorry again for the long delay, ya'll. I honestly have no legitimate excuse this time. I've just been preoccupied with summer festivities. Enjoying a bit of much-needed fun and relaxation. And I **_**did **_**warn ya'll that I'm a very "spur of the moment" writer. I'm trying to make it a routine thing, honest. Anywho, I can say that this is now my longest chapter. By quite a bit. And I did have quite a bit of fun writing this. I just adore how awkward yet endearing Merlin can be, and his overall character. I hope I got him in-character, because as I write him, he's fun to write for. Anywho, let me know what ya'll think, por favor. Even if it **_**is **_**just the same 3 readers reviewing over and over, I do appreciate the feedback. And I love my loyal readers—and love the attention this is getting via subscriptions and favorites. So with that said… enjoy! =)**

Light streamed in from the unfiltered window. The cold stone flooring waged a tumultuous war against the warmth in her knees. Her body gave one great shudder. Hopefully the last of those tedious tremors. Nearly numb now. Nearly clean.

Well, nearly 'not completely filthy', anyway.

Raivierra dragged the sopping cloth down a bare thigh to that leg's knee, mopping the sweat and dirt from her skin. She dunked it back in the rickety old bucket that sat leaking beside her. Then brought it back up to her naked torso. Well… naked down to the bottoms of her shoulder blades. From there on to her hips, plaster and bandages enclosed her upper body. That damned Gaius had insisted 'precautions' for stabilization were necessary. Raivierra wrinkled her nose as if some rank smell had reached her. Sanctioned inconvenience, more like.

"Raivierra?" Merlin's voice fluttered to her from beyond the room's closed door. He always did that. Asked quietly… maybe nervously, and yet always expecting her to hear. As if her name was some sort of secret. A gentle rapping on wood.

A splash and her hand was back in the bucket, with her other lifting her hair to wash her upper back. She'd let him wait. She knew it irked him. And that was the fun of it.

"Rai, I know you're in there." She could hear the irritation mounting in his voice. "I can hear…" He hesitated "something."

She laughed aloud; acknowledging Merlin's impatience. "It's not locked." She replied in answer, referring to the door.

Interpreting that as an invitation to come in, she heard Merlin push past the door behind her, his voice noticeably calmed. "So we've got fowl and—" Much to Raivierra's amusement, the man let out a startled yell. Bordering on a yelp. The tortured floor groaned loudly beneath the uneven ridges of the door as he leapt back against it, forcing it shut. She could imagine the flush in his cheeks. The surprise in his bright eyes.

Taking what she thought to be a moment to calm himself, Merlin spoke in a slow, deliberate tone, "Rai… care to explain what you're doing?"

"Washing up." Raivierra replied casually. She brought the cloth up and soaked her neck. "What does it look like?"

"You know, most people— erm… Most people" Merlin stuttered, his tongue getting tied in all sorts of ways.

"Take a bath?" She attempted to finish his thought.

"Well yes, that too." Merlin agreed lividly. "But _typically_… a person is decent before inviting another into their quarters"

"Well, I do suppose that if _casts_ turn you on, this is quite risqué" Raivierra answered cutely, sticking the tip of her tongue between her rows of teeth. Pleased with herself. This was too fun.

"I beg your pardon?" Merlin's voice cracked as his bashfulness escalated.

"You heard me." She replied casually. She rose awkwardly to her feet and crossed the room for her bloomers. "And the last I checked, these are your quarters." She called over her naked shoulder. "I'm just borrowing them."

"Good Gods, Rai!" Merlin exclaimed in a panicked, shrill voice. He abruptly turned away, fixing his attention on the now closed door and hiding his face with a spread palm.

"What's got you riled up?" Raivierra asked, pulling the undergarment up to her waist and fastening its drawstring. She turned about to face him and rolled her eyes in realization. "Oh please. It's not as if I'm propositioning you." Her words came along with an exaggerated scoff.

"Pro-proposition… you mean…?" When he turned back to look at her, his face was deep red. Adorable.

"Had a little too much to drink, Merlin?" She teased, retracing her steps back and reaching out to brush his cheek. Much like a mother wiping dirt off a child's face. "Serving girl or no, I've still got to charge you full price down at the tavern."

"Rai, you do know—there's such thing as personal space." Merlin crept around her, letting out a held breath.

Raivierra turned with him, wrinkling her brow in mock concern. "Oh yes, of course, my friend..." she generously coated her voice in sympathy. She grinned and playfully shoved him in the arm, "And as I've said before, I'm borrowing yours." She turned nimbly on her heel (well, as gracefully as she could with the damn brace on), and strode back across the room to retrieve her linen shirt. "Now be a doll and help me with this." Her request was thrown at the young man, along with the garment.

"Oh no. No no no." Merlin held his hands up in protest—unfortunately for him, in perfect receiving position for her throw. "No." He stated firmly, holding the top away from himself.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Come again?" She replied smartly, much to his annoyance.

"You're not a child, right? You've learned how to put on a shirt, haven't you?" Merlin chided, thrusting the clothing back towards her in his outstretched hands.

"No, I don't believe I have." Raivierra returned sarcastically and rolled her eyes once more, pushing it back towards him. "Don't be an ass, Merlin. If you'd cut this cursed _board _off, I'd be able to do it myself. But until then…"

"It's your own fault." Merlin raised a brow as he went on, "Who in their right mind jumps on a wilderin's back?"

"Hold, a moment." She frowned and tilted her head, holding her hand up. "I thought you said I was bloody _brilliant_"

"Yes, well. I changed my mind."

"Good, then you can change your mind about this." Having said that, Raivierra turned around, holding her arms above her head, waiting for him to slip the garment over her. "And I'll have you know, I'm the envy of every woman in all of Albion." Raivierra piped up.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Merlin open his mouth to protest again… but instead, he let out a groan of forfeit. She heard him move up behind her, fidgeting with the cloth. Finally, she felt the rough fabric slide over her hands down to her forearms, and tent over her head. "And why is that?" Merlin's tone was defeated; just humoring her now.

"Why else? I've got a damn built-in corset." Raivierra grinned Cheshire-like beneath the cloth, and she knew him to be doing the same.

Voices. A knock on the door. Pounding, more like.

"Come in!" Raivierra called out cheerfully, still struggling to get her head through the opening of the shirt.

"No!" Merlin chimed out in alarm. "No, don't come in!" His voice becoming increasingly shrill, "Just a moment!" He began tugging frantically at the bottom hem of the cheap article of clothing.

Evidently, Raivierra's invitation was the only thing their guests took into consideration. Two of Uther's royal guards shoved past the door, entered the room, and abruptly…

Stopped.

"Are we interrupting?" The taller of the duo asked, brow raised and smirk unsuccessfully suppressed.

"Clearly." Raivierra replied in an annoyed voice, left to force her head through the opening on her own—seeing how Merlin had instantly backed off.

"N-no. You can't be. Not if there's nothing to interrupt." Merlin shook his head feverously as he held his hands up defensively.

"See, what my young friend here fails to realize…" Raivierra finally managed to wiggle her head through, and jerked it towards Merlin as her nimble fingers began working the criss-cross tie on the neckline of her shirt. "Is that he's making it seem awfully suspicious."

"Right…" Merlin eyed her warily— acutely aware that she might say something else outrageous. "Well ermmm… what- what did you want?" He asked, turning his attention to the visitors.

The sturdy one with chiseled features whipped out a roll of parchment, slicing the tie to unfurl it.

Raivierra cocked a brow and let out a low whistle. Fancy. She cast a glance at Merlin, who had his head drawn back on his neck. Clearly, he was likewise impressed.

The man cleared his voice and spoke in a declarative, deep voice, "By order of Lord Uther, your presence is requested in the King's dining hall for the evening."

"I believe you _may _have the wrong woman." Raivierra winked knowingly at Merlin, "My presence would hardly be desired… much less, by the king." She laughed heartily at that.

Neither guard appeared amused. "There is to be a feast in your honor. A small token of thanks for saving Prince Arthur's life." The lanky one responded in a serious tone.

Raivierra let out a sharp laugh, "Oh, now you _definitely _have the wrong woman." Again, neither responded to her attempts at humor. She edged closer to Merlin for comfort. "Is that how it's going down in the records? Fine by me." She nudged Merlin suggestively with her elbow. Turning back to the guards, she cleared her throat and waved them off dismissively, "Truly, do tell Uther I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid I will have to most graciously decline."

"You… decline the king's invitation?" The stouter guard questioned, wide-eyed like his companion. Like Merlin as well.

"I do believe that's what I just did." Raivierra offered them a tight-lipped smile, having lost interest in this conversation.

"You can't just… _refuse_ the _King_." The tall one stammered, still bewildered.

"Ah, but I didn't _just_. I did so _graciously_." She held up a finger and stated matter-of-factly.

"She's kidding!" Merlin exclaimed suddenly, clapping his hands together. "Ha! Oh what a jester, this one, eh?" He grabbed her shoulder nearest him and shook it vigorously until she flinched into submission. "She accepts. Of course she accepts. She is honored." He beamed at the guards. "And she will most definitely be there."

Raivierra narrowed her eyes viper-like at Merlin. Opening her pursed lips, she managed an obligatory, "Apparently I'm honored." to the knights, who found solace in her words.

"Excellent. Lord Uther will be most pleased." The stocky one rerolled his parchment and tucked it away in his belt. "A servant will be up shortly to deliver proper attire and…"

Yada yada yada… something something something. Raivierra groaned inwardly as the man proceeded to give her a brief lecture on etiquette. Honestly quite yawn-worthy stuff… speaking of, stifling hers was becoming quite the challenge.

"As the guest of honor, you are expected to abide by the rules of the court." The bean-stalk's voice brought her back to her senses.

"Hmm? Yes. Of course." Raivierra flashed them her most charming smile and dipped her head courteously. Jostling Merlin quite a bit. "Just one more thing, good Sirs… might I bring an escort?"

"An escort?" The pair queried in unison, making it no secret that they were shocked.

Raivierra put her hands on her hips (well, the edge of the cast) and nodded slowly. "It's _proper_ for a lady to be accompanied by a man, isn't it?"

"O-off course. You are permitted to bring a… a guest." The stout man awkwardly stuttered. It was obvious he was astonished she could land a man. And hell, from what she'd shown him thus far, she couldn't find reason enough to be offended.

"Perfect." She strode past the two men and stood next to the door, gesturing for them to leave. "Now if you'd be so kind…"

"I'm surprised you've already made a _special _friend." Merlin teased, trotting over to the bed to fetch her burlap trousers. "You've been here but two weeks and already you've found romance."

"Well…" Raivierra snatched her pants from Merlin's offering hands. She rested her forearm on his shoulder and leaned against him as she pulled the sheaths over each leg. "You're sweet, and I like you well enough, but I wouldn't call our relationship romantic."

"I beg your pardon?" Merlin's question came out as a strangled choking sound.

Raivierra straightened up and looked him squarely in the eye. She spoke lowly. Dangerously. "Oh, that's right. You got me into this. It's only fair if I drag you along for the ride."

0o0o0o0o0o0oo0o

Raivierra stepped cautiously into the light of the grand dining hall. A symphony of blaringly loud trumpets announced her arrival. So much for slipping in unnoticed. It had been a while since she'd last been in such company. Women and men milling about, all done up and elegant. Good Lord, she didn't want to be one of them... but for the evening, she would be. Hell, she hadn't even shuffled into a gown and heels (that of which Guinevere had been kind enough to provide in a hideous violet shade) in years. She hesitated for a brief moment.

Considered fleeing. Then remembered. She wasn't alone.

Merlin shifted at her left side, his arm linked with hers at the elbow. He gave a gentle squeeze, attempting to ease away what trepidation they shared.

"Come now, Merlin. You've no reason to be nervous." Raivierra teased; her own voice tense. "You should be accustomed to this by now."

"Accustomed? Yeah right." Merlin gave an anxious chuckle. "I'm usually here as a manservant to the Prince, remember?"

"To the Royal Prat, you mean?" Raivierra led the way with a few tentative steps.

"One and the same." Merlin replied smartly, giving her courage. Emboldening her steps.

Oh what would she have done had Merlin not come along. An absolute Godsend.

"The lady of the hour!" Uther's announcement drew her attention, silencing the mutters amongst the attendees. "And… her escort." He spared Merlin a momentary glance, who looked away sheepishly. "It is an _honor _to have you with us this evening." At his words, the other attendees began taking to their seats. Leaving two empty cathedra-like chairs at the head of the buffet table. Conveniently situated next to the crown prince. Lovely.

"Oh, really… you think too much of me—I'm afraid I'd only disappoint you." Raivierra joked (well, more truth than joke) openly, eliciting a few supplementary chortles from the other guests.

"Think too much of you?" Uther's voice boomed excessively-so. "That's hardly a possibility, considering you saved the life of my son—Prince Arthur, _heir to the throne_." He stressed the importance of her deed. He turned in his lavishly-dressed seat to take in the faces of his guests. "And such effort warrants a great reward."

Raivierra smothered a grimace with her free hand and glanced at Merlin from the corner of her eye. The man's mouth was twitching with the effort of concealing a smug smirk.

"Please." Uther made an exaggerated gesture towards the two free seats. "Join us, good lady."

"If you insist…" Raivierra led the way to the banquet table, skirting the edge all the way to Arthur.

Much to her surprise, the young prince rose from his chair to pull out her seat. "Allow me, my lady." Arthur gave her a tight-lipped smile and dipped his head. Odd; how he hadn't outed her yet.

"What a gentleman." Raivierra held her hand over her heart in mock sincerity and took her seat, pulling the gangly Merlin down next to her.

"A toast!" Uther exclaimed. Oh hells. He was that much louder from here. "To this good woman's health!" He raised his wine-filled goblet high, with the others following suit.

"I'll drink to that." Merlin muttered, joining the toast with his fresh chalice.

Raivierra flashed a glare at Merlin. That same smirk freely rode his lips now. As the rest of her company began to delicately pick at the food on their plates, Raivierra took that as her cue to attack the savory beef morsels on her own. Beside her, she could just see Merlin doing the same.

Each bite fell apart in succulent juices once it hit her tongue, bringing her palate to climax.

She greedily swilled the fine alcohol— far richer and stronger than the mead she served at the tavern. She reached for the bunch of grapes. Nearly quivering in anticipation of their overwhelming candied flavor.

She froze. Eyes were on her. All of them, in fact. Even Merlin's. Whoops. Perhaps she's forgotten that 'etiquette'.

Her keen ears could pick up murmurs of "pig" and discrediting remarks about the peasantry. She tilted her head slightly to find Arthur staring at her in bewilderment. As if she was some sort of rabid dog. What? It's not as if she was treated to these delicacies often. _Ever_, actually.

"Um… excuse me." Raivierra smiled sheepishly and raised her dinner cloth to her rose-red lips.

After a moment of prolonged silence, Uther was the first to speak. "Yes… well, as I was saying, is there anything more that you could desire?" He made a sweeping motion with his hands, "I don't believe I've sufficiently thanked you as of yet."

"Well to be honest…" Raivierra calmly met Uther's expectant gaze. "I couldn't have done it without Merlin."

Merlin, who had been sipping at the burgundy liquor in his cup, inhaled sharply at her words and began sputtering. Raivierra gently patted his back until his coughing fit passed.

"Merlin?" Uther inquired in amazement. "Well, it seems I couldn't have assigned my son a better manservant, then." He let out a hearty laugh, "Well done, boy!"

Merlin wiped away his spittle and splashes of wine with his sleeve. "Th-Thank you, Sire."

Arthur cleared his throat and finally spoke his second words for the evening. "That reminds me, Merlin. I'll need my armor shined by sunrise and my sword is beginning to look dull. Best get on that."

Raivierra's brows furrowed at that. Though Merlin began to nod, Raivierra spoke up before he could truly answer, "Beg pardon?" her voice tinged with defiance.

"… What?" Arthur looked utterly confused at her challenge.

Merlin groaned quietly and began fervently chomping at the rest of his meal, "Well, it was nice while it lasted." His chewing muffled his words.

Raivierra sat erectly in her seat. Imposingly. She growled under her breath and raised her voice against Arthur—evidently not a common occurrence, or his face wouldn't have been so contorted with shock. Stone-still like that. "How _dare _you address him like that—I will not stand by while you order him about!" She hesitated and winced at her own foolishness, "Well, at least…not tonight, anyway."

Silence engulfed the entire room. Only steady breaths that seemed far too loud broke the silence.

Merlin finally tugged at her sleeve, "Raivierra. Really. It's quite alrigh—"

"How dare _you _address royalty in such a way!" Uther erupted, leaping from his seat and nearly causing her ears to bleed. Not to mention that he made the rest of the room jump. With each word he grew more enraged, moving threateningly towards her. "We offer you exceptional treatment and you… you _wench_! You ungrateful—"

"My Lord!" Four knights stormed in from the arching hallway, all frantic and one crying out in alarm.

"What is it now?" Uther whipped around, eying his soldiers in vexation.

"My apologies, Uther… on arriving unannounced." A feminine voice echoed from the passageway.

A dainty form floated past the four guards to make its entrance. It was a woman (no duh). Fair-skinned, slim pretty face, long auburn tresses… and even beneath the unflattering cloak she wore, her delicate hour-glass figure was what every man craved. And the way she carried herself. Even if this wasn't her shining hour—her hair being matted with sweat and mud, she walked with grace and elegance. Nobility. She had to be.

"Lady Katrina!" Uther exclaimed, confirming Raivierra's suspicions, and clambered towards the woman. "What's happened?"

Raivierra would've been content on staying and finding out what exactly was going on… but Merlin had other plans.

Merlin grabbed her by her forearm and pulled her close. "We're leaving."

"Oh?" she gave him a toothy grin and drew her face close to his. "But things were just starting to get interesting."

"If by interesting, you mean you were working on getting your head chopped off, then yes. Fascinating." He pulled her along after him. Damn. He actually was fairly stronger than he looked. "I'm getting you out of here."

The two slunk away to the side corridor, with that Lady Katrina providing plenty of distraction. Definitely holding Uther's attention, anyway.

They'd nearly made it. Back to Gaius' clinic. Yet one last obstacle stood in their way. Three to be exact. Arthur and two of his knights. Obviously, they hadn't left him back in the dining hall as they'd thought.

"Arthur!" Merlin called to him good-naturedly. "Oh, yes. Right. I'll be right there to shine your armor and… whatever." He tacked on hurriedly.

"Yes. You will. Now, actually." Arthur crossed his arms self-righteously and turned his attention to Raivierra. "We'll take Raivierra off your hands for the time being."

Raivierra narrowed her green eyes, taking in the setting of Arthur's expression. Something was off. She tilted her head and looked to Merlin. He was thinking the same thing. She licked her lips and yawned, "That's awfully generous of you, but I'm just about worn out for the day."

"Oh, nonsense." Arthur gave a stilted laugh and waved off her words. He moved towards her and hooked his arm around her neck, casually resting his arm across her satin-clothed shoulders. "No, I must insist that I show you around the keep. Get you familiar with Camelot. It'll be a blast."

Raivierra craned her head around to look at Merlin, who merely shrugged and released her as Arthur pulled her away. She tried to free herself of Arthur's grip, but to no avail. In fact, he tightened his grip and pulled her closer to his muscled chest. "Arthur… _Prince _Arthur…It's terribly late, and I—"

"No, not too late." Arthur grimaced a bit and loosened his grip a smidge—her hair had found its way into his mouth. "Come now, You've only just seen the physicians hall, the tavern, and the dining hall. There's far more to Camelot than that... and as my father made clear…" he lowered his voice a few volumes. "I do owe you."

Raivierra shivered. He was being far too chummy. She looked back at Merlin for support. The boy mouthed the words "good luck" and disappeared down the hallway. Some help he was. "Well. I suppose it couldn't hurt." She conceded.

"Excellent. I'm glad you see it my way." Arthur replied in a chipper tone—though it was clear he wasn't planning to settle for anything short of her agreement.

"Only for a little while." Raivierra reminded him, as well as herself. "Owen is going to have my hide if I'm late to my morning duties." She looked up at his face and found a smirk. Much like Merlin's. _Too much _like Merlin's. The one he always had when he knew she was in for it. Not good. Hell; that was an understatement.

"Oh, this won't take long at all." Arthur returned smugly. He lowered his head for his lips to be ear-level with her. "Tell me, Rai." He paused, watching her strain to her what he had to say next. "Have you seen the stockades?"

….

Son of a bitch.

**Note: Hope ya'll dig it. And review, dears! Oh and feel free to critique, and give me opinions on Raivierra's character (mannerisms, personality, etc.) and anything else you find outstanding or heinous. I'll try to cut the wait-time between installments. Hopefully I'll be submitting a new update soon! Ciao for now!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Hey ya'll. I know it's been a while again. And I do apologize for that. No excuses this time—might as well let those of you following this story know that I do tend to take "leave of absences" between chapters. Though I do enjoy writing, the idea of sitting and clacking away on a keyboard all day isn't really all-that-appealing to me. Plus, now that this term has started up, schoolwork is going to make everything else a lot more hectic. But hey now. Lets focus on the good. I worked hard to get this out this weekend. Consider it my labor day present to all ya'll lovely readers =). And as such, you guys should definitely drop some reviews for me. Let me know what you like, what you don't like, what I'm doing right, what I'm doing wrong, and all that jazz. I love getting feedback whatever it is =). And more feedback may mean more frequent updates… maybe. If you catch my drift ;). "Anywho," read and (hopefully) enjoy!**

Her back ached. Stiff as a damn bored. Oh, wait. Wait a minute. No it didn't. She had lost feeling in it about an hour ago. Or… two? How much time had passed since sunrise? Had she even slept a nip? What in Albion was a 'nip'? Guess that's a 'no' on the question to sleeping.

One thing rang true and clear. Arthur was an ass. Among other things that a proper lady (like herself, of course) wouldn't mention.

Raivierra groaned and shook her head to clear it. A hiss escaped her lips when rough wooden splinters scraped at her neck and punctured her nape. She wrenched her wrists, which were likewise enclosed by the stockade's board. She shook vehemently. The padlock held fast. She let out a growl of frustration; like the caged beast she was.

But all things aside… this was… _nice_? She'd been the only one to hear the creatures of the night retreat to the bright chirps and warbling of morning birds. She'd been the only one to see the stray cats clambering about market stalls, scavenging for scraps. To see the dogs running them off. And the cats slinking back minutes later.

And now an incessant itch. Brought on by the irritating plaster of her cast. Oh, she wouldn't _dream_ of reaching her hip… not from here. But she would certainly try. She raised her right leg—now clothed down to the calf with a cotton peasant's slip (at least Arthur had a servant rid her of the painted face and clown attire she'd worn the night before), and turned it at the knee to rub that ankle against the back of her thigh. Easing it higher to her bum, and… nope. Her leg would definitely not bend that way.

Smack!

Something hard struck her square in the mouth. Her bottom lip grew hot and she tasted copper. Her little balancing act had distracted her from the modest crowd of spectators. With more arriving as the rest of the town awakened. She looked down to see a freshly bruised apple rolling away from her. Then back up to see a young boy laughing with glee.

She dodged the next squash, thrown by a young woman. Its goop dripped down onto her shoes as the shrill-voiced woman cried out at the waste. She jerked her head to the side just as a gnawed-on beet flew by. It struck the space next to her eye with a sickening thud. And then a barrage of overly ripe crop blotted out her view and smothered her breathing.

"Well well… what's this?" A masculine voice purred with amusement, and leather-booted steps announced the steady approach of a man.

Her loss of one sense didn't leave her completely blind. From the pace of his walk and the impact his boots made on the packed dirt, he had to be somewhere between one and half to two meters tall. On the taller end, if she had to guess. And… perhaps a bit on the heavy side.

"Take your best shot." Raivierra spat back, momentarily closing her eyes and shaking her head in attempt to get her vision back.

"Ah. Let me help you there…" rough leather gloves and naked fingers brushed against her eyelids, sweeping down her cheekbones to her jaw. Clearing it of most of the produce splatter.

She bit at those very fingers, causing their owner to yank them safely out of her reach. "Touch me again, and those won't be all that you lose." she growled threateningly.

"Easy there." That unnamed voice got defensive. "I'm just trying to help."

Raivierra finally opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light. Her prediction was correct. Well, halfway. The man standing before her was of average height, but of sturdy stature. The way in which his layered attire sat accentuated his muscular build.

And she'd seen him. A few times before now; down at the tavern. She had never served him… but Catalina had crooned about his looks. Fair enough. And mentioned how oddly gentlemanly he was.

"Well, aren't you a pretty bird." The unnamed man gazed down at her; his rugged face casting a broad smile.

Gentlemanly? Brazen, more like.

"Beg pardon?" Raivierra raised her tomato-drenched brows. That was new. A man as bold as he was a rare find. Well, not at the tavern. Especially after a few drinks. And even moreso after a few patrons found themselves low on coin and mead.

But _this_ man…seemed perfectly sober. And he had looks enough to not _need _to be the desperate skirt-chasing type.

"What I can't comprehend…" he trailed off and glanced behind her post before looking back at her, "Is what foul manner of man would find it suitable to leave an attractive woman like yourself subject and vulnerable to unsavory sorts of men that might… _take advantage_ of your situation." He leaned casually against the corner of the pillory with a smug look on his face.

"Well." Raivierra started, narrowing her pale eyes at him. "I am inclined to give fair warning that I kick like twenty oxen." She adjusted her neck to be facing frontwards again. "And I'll have you know it's not below me to aim _low_."

The man chuckled and caught a rotten fish that had been inches from slamming into her face. He grimaced slightly, dropping the mackerel and wiping the slime on his pant leg. "Oh, I'm not a man you'd have to worry about, dear lady."

Raivierra raised a brow; fighting with the left corner of her mouth against the tiniest of smiles. "So you're not the unsavory sort to take advantage of a woman bent over in the stocks…" she paused, watching his affirmative gesture. "You're just the scum of the earth type that roams the land trying to charm and bed as many women as possible." She jerked her head towards the sack by his feet. All his belongings probably thrown in that humble bag. She watched his head begin to shake. "Oh yes. That's much better." Good. That should scare him off.

"Wow." The man clearly looked taken aback, but gave no indication of wanting to leave. "That was uncalled for." he feigned a wounded voice to match his expression. "I'm not feeling particularly scummy at the moment." A devious grin formed on his face, stretching his profile. And his teeth—curiously white against the bristly darkness of his jaw.

"Yes, well…" Raivierra eyed him warily from the corners of hers. "Perhaps you are having an off day." she retorted smartly.

"Must be." The man replied, crossing his arms and rocking back on his heels. Watching her from the rim of his amused brown eyes.

"Come away from her!" A young woman shouted out at Raivierra's visitor. "That slattern had the gall to insult both the prince and our king!" she shrieked, spitting with each yowl.

The man's face grew stiff with raised brows as his eyes searched Raivierra's. "Really now? The both of them in one go?" A smirk formed at the corners of his mouth as he mused. "Well done." He grinned boyishly and laughed, giving Raivierra praise through his conduct.

He approved? _Openly_? How odd.

"I'm impressed." Raivierra assented, granting the man a vague look of approval. "There's not a handful of men around here that would admit to a sour opinion of the prim and proper." Her expression turned into a sly smirk, "and even fewer that would tolerate a tongue like mine."

He leaned back slightly and stretched leisurely. Taking on a relaxed manner, he spoke in a tone that conveyed false chagrin, "Well, the nobility and I don't seem to see eye-to-eye." His face stretched again into a wide smile at her words; breaking his feeble facade. "And it's just that I've known women like you."

Raivierra quirked a brow at that. "I'm sure you've _known_ many a woman." The tone in her voice suggesting the lewder connotation to the word. "But not a one _quite _like me." She watched as he chuckled and shook his head at her sauciness. I can promise you that."

"Clearly." Whisked back at her along with a smug look.

He had her interest. She would admit that much. Not to him, of course—but to herself. Presumably, any other man would have been running for the hills by now. Or be demanding reparations for her noxious attitude. But he seemed to be _enjoying _himself.

And maybe she was as well.

"Well. As fun as this has been…" He started, batting away yet another in-bound potato and waving off the curses shouted at him, "It seems a shame that I have yet to learn your name."

"Not terribly." Raivierra replied smartly, sending him a coy look.

"Move aside if you will!" Someone called from within the small gathered audience. The voice was light. And whoever it belonged to was trying to reach her.

Merlin.

"And here is where I take my leave." The man inclined his head—as a knight would to a Lady. With a scoff from Raivierra, he hefted his bag over his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd. Gone.

Merlin emerged from the crowd, edging between two larger men. "Rai I need your help." He gasped out, clearly winded. And excited; a given from his tone of voice.

"I'm listening," Raivierra flashed him a strained smile. It wasn't as if she could avoid it.

"Right." Merlin didn't seem to notice. "Well, Lady Katrina needs—you remember her? From last night?" His motions were exaggerated as he spoke. "Well, how could you forget?" Good God, he sounded like a child that had just received a new toy. "Well, I need to make sure she is tended to _perfectly_. Everything has to be to her complete satisfaction." His beaming smile vanished a moment and was replaced with a sheepish look while he uttered the next words, "So I could use a hand."

Raivierra watched him for a few minutes longer. Letting him stew. "And so you want to make a good impression because you fancy her."

"What!" Merlin pulled back, holding his arm up in defense as if she had attacked him. "N-No! I-I just think Uther would… ummm… appreciate t—"

"Well, I'd love to help you, Merlin." she stated flatly, interrupting his stammering. "But I'm a bit busy… in case you hadn't noticed." She struggled against her binds representatively; making the hinged boards rattle.

"Ah! Right!" Merlin fumbled about in his pockets for a moment and drew out an unnecessarily-large keyring with a single key. "Arthur said you had suffered long enough." He moved to her side to find the stockade's padlock.

"Did he now?" Raivierra pronounced the words slowly and deliberately. Bitterly, perhaps?

"How did you get into this in the first place?" Merlin inquired absently, still jamming the key into the lock. "I left you with Arthur last night, didn't I?" The lock finally clicked and the padlock fell to the ground. He began to lift the top board of the contraption to let her out. "I didn't think Uther would have been able to find you before the night was ov—"

"Stop right there." Raivierra cut him off again, rising from her place. Free again, she flexed her legs and rubbed her wrists. Rolling her stiff neck, she looked into Merlin's confused face. "You said it yourself. You left me with Arthur."

* * *

Raivierra hitched up her skirt with one hand as she strode across the room crowded with occupied chairs and tables cluttered with frothy tankards. Empty. Half-empty. A few drops of mead left in the bottom. What wasteful dotards.

A pair of hands settled around her waist.

She looked down to be greeted by a young man wearing a lascivious grin. She took a deep calming breath. She would _behave_… Owen had warned her so before. Raivierra feigned a bashful look back. And the next moment, the man was sprawled across the ale-drenched floor. Unconscious. Her hand vaguely throbbed. Her once-lifted skirt was dragging as she shifted her stance.

…Whoops. So she hadn't just _imagined _landing a mean uppercut on the fellow's fragile chin.

And yet, aside from the initial uproar of surprise, the other patrons paid little mind to the commotion. A common occurrence. With enough alcohol in their blood, men seemed to fancy a good brawl.

A hand fell on her bare shoulder, locking in a firm grip. Instinct drove her to throw her elbow back. Back into a man's face. Merlin's face.

"Gahh!" Merlin cried out and he released her to hold his nose, which was now leaking a crimson fluid. "Was that really necessary?" He asked with a nasally voice.

Raivierra slammed the full tankard she had been carrying on the nearest table—knowing full well that the men scrambling for it had no intention of buying. "Come here." She replied, grabbing his forearm and dragging him out the back; dismissively waving off a fuming Owen all the while.

"I can't breathe!" Merlin exclaimed in alarm. "I'm going to be horribly disfigured for the rest of my life—_if _I make it through this."

Raivierra pushed his hand aside and moved close to inspect his nose. It was heinously swollen… and bleeding a bit, but other than that, the bridge was fine. "Stop being such a princess." She took the eating cloth tucked in her sash and dabbed at the blood running from his nose. Once he was good as new, she gave him a light slap on the cheek. "You're fine."

Merlin eyed her warily—wincing when he wrinkled his nose. "Oh, I am so terribly sorry, Merlin. My good friend, I'd never mean to harm you," he carried on in an awful rendition of a woman's voice. Real subtle suggestion. _Real _subtle, Merlin.

"What did you want?" Raivierra prodded impatiently. "You only ever come down to the tavern when you want something."

"Oh, yes." Merlin grew deathly serious and pulled her aside, further into the alley corner. "I need your help with Lady Katrina again," he spoke in a hushed tone.

"I'm not going to walk you through sex, if that's what you're asking." Raivierra returned smartly, grinning stupidly.

"W-what? God, no! I'd never ask you to… Rai!" Merlin's face grew red with each second. Too easy. And absolutely undeniably adorable. Then he looked sick. "Oh, God… believe me when I say I'm not at all interested in… _that _with that _thing_!" He wretched out his last words.

"Merlin, have some tact." Raivierra chided. "She's a lovely woman. And just two weeks ago, you wouldn't shut up about it."

"Rai, that's just it. It's Lady Katrina. She's not a woman." He lowered his voice again, glancing nervously about.

"Oh really?" Raivierra leaned forward, feigning interest to humor the young man. "And what exactly is she then?"

"She's a _troll_!" Merlin blurted out, with eyes wide and all that.

"A troll." Raivierra sounded out the word. She lowered her head and tried again, "A troll…" Nope. It just would not stick. She snapped her head back up at Merlin, "You know, Merlin. It's times like these that make me wonder what you say about _me_ behind _my _back."

"Could you please focus for just one moment? I'm _serious_!" his voice grew insistent. "She's a troll. Purple skin, sewers, warts, odor, tusks and all." His gorgeous blue eyes went wide… well, wider. "And her servant! Jonas? Yeah, he's got a tail! I mean, that _can't_ be _hu_man!" his frantic eyes desperately searched her calm moss-green set. "You of all people—you've got to believe me."

She didn't. To be honest.

"I do, I do." Raivierra conceded with a sigh. Believe him or not, Merlin was convinced. And on the off chance that he _wasn't _delirious… well, she wasn't about to miss out on Uther courting a troll. She put her hands on her hips and rocked back on her heels. "Alright. Alright. So what are you planning and what do you need from me?"

* * *

"Raivierra."

A quaking, aged voice drew her reluctantly from her dreams. Yet her eyes remained closed. She heard her name a second time. She felt a hand reach for her shoulder to shake her awake. Raivierra bolted upright and her eyes snapped open; calling her knife to her from under her pillow. She held it up in defense against… Gaius.

The old physician remained frozen until the knife was tucked away once more. "Merlin isn't back yet." His voice trembled a bit with worry.

Raivierra flopped back down onto bedroll—wincing at the impact against the solid stone floor. She sighed and closed her eyes nonchalantly. "He's probably just off and upset about the king's decision to marry a troll." she muttered through an extended yawn. It irked her. This man. Interrupting her much needed sleep. Especially when the man he spoke of was the reason for her exhaustion.

"He told you the Lady Katrina is a troll?" Gaius took on a cautious tone.

Raivierra nodded casually and rolled over on her side to turn her back to Gaius. "I don't see why he's so worried. It'll fix itself." she mumbled, not really taking care to make sure it was coherent.

"Did he…" Gaius moved to the other side of the bed to be facing her directly. "Tell you anything else?" his voice was curious. Pressing. Concerned.

Raivierra looked up at him, furrowing her brows with thought. "Should he have?" she took a tone more accusatory than anything.

"No. No, I suppose not." Gaius waved her off dismissively—though his tone said otherwise. "But we've got to make sure he's alright." He quickly changed the subject and began faintly scavenging the room. "There might be something here to tell us where he's gone."

"I know exactly where he went." Raivierra grudgingly rolled off the thin mattress and climbed to her feet—much easier now that Gaius had cut off that damned cast a few days ago.

Gaius smirked at her. "A little much for sleeping, don't you think?" he inquired, referring to her outfit; which consisted of her full set of leather armor. "You weren't perhaps already thinking of going after him, were you?" Gaius carried on smugly.

"Not at all." Raivierra yawned and waved him off; making for the common room. She briefly stopped by the rickety dining table to snatch up a bruised apple from the wooden bowl. Collecting her weaponry by the door, she pointed a sword at Gaius as she leisurely savored a bite of the fruit. "If I'm not back with him, you get the princely prat to come after us." And with that, she stepped across the threshold and eased the door closed behind her.

Darkness rushed to embrace her. Only the dim bobbing and weaving of torch-lit dancers illuminated the walls. It wouldn't be long before they burned out for lack of pitch.

Nearly half an hour of slinking about in the hallways—avoiding detection by the guards on patrol all the while, found her slipping into the sewers of the keep. Reluctantly, might she add. It _reeked_. Feces and the other unwanted excrements littered the ground and clouded her senses. She delicately picked her way through the shadowed hallways, making no attempt to hide the distaste on her face.

Noises. Voices. She froze.

A lone voice. A man's. In a language she didn't recognize. Or maybe her ears were playing tricks on her again. Whomever he was, he was shouting. The structure around her trembled and shook. For a brief moment, it crossed her mind that she might be caught up in a cave-in… yet she pressed on. Drawn in. The source of the disturbance charming her curiosity.

"Merlin?" Raivierra called out softly as she cautiously weaved her way through the pathway. Finding Merlin was what she came for, yes, but if she drew too much attention to herself, someone—some_thing _else might find her first.

Her right hand fell to the longsword at her hip. Slowly pulling it from the scabbard, she rounded another corner and… keeled over. She retched vehemently; nearly losing her late dinner. And that apple. The smell was overwhelming here. Something of an intense mix of dung, vomit, urine, acrid sweat, and all sorts of mold. Hands on her knees and breathing heavily, she swallowed thickly and willed herself to straighten up.

"Merlin?" She called out again, this time much louder… and with a touch of unease. Not particularly caring for her own discretion this time around. "Merlin, are you there? Can you hear me?" Her voice rose several volumes. She couldn't quite decide whether his presence or lack-thereof concerned her more.

"… Rai?" Merlin's familiar voice finally broke the suspicious quiet that had pervaded for what seemed an eternity. "Rai, is that you?" As if he had answered his own question, he carried on, "Rai, I'm here! I'm… trapped."

Trapped? Drastically picking up the pace, Raivierra sprinted down the passageway and several more—her boots sloshing in unmentionable refuse, kicking the waste up at her own legs as she followed Merlin's voice through the maze of tunnels.

"Merlin!" She cried out in despair as she came upon a dead end. An entryway closed off by fallen rocks—or rather, boulders. Perhaps a product of the quakes.

Had she taken a wrong turn? Or was he…

"I'm here, Rai. I'm in here." His voice was surprisingly calm. And muffled, whereas her voice echoed boldly. "Are you alright? Did you see her?"

"Mer—What are you talking about?" Raivierra returned, her brows furrowing in her confusion. "Who… no—forget it. Are you hurt?" she inquired, leaning against the pile of rubble. Straining to hear his response (with which he took his time).

"I'm fine. But you've got to listen to me." His voice became progressively frantic. "It was her—Katrina. I _told _you, she's a _troll_!" Raivierra could imagine his exaggerated gestures and wide blue eyes as he spoke. "I followed her to—and she trapped me here! W-with her magic!"

"Alright, Merlin." Raivierra held her hands up and shook her head despite the fact that he couldn't see her. "Look. Just… we're getting you out of here. And then we'll see about the… whatever." She resigned herself to hauling and heaving away the boulders in the rock pile.

On the other side she heard Merlin groan reluctantly… knowingly. Yet he followed suit. The sounds of rocks being tossed about confirmed that.

Hours passed. With little progress. In fact, aside from the sweat that beaded Raivierra's face and matted her hair to her neck, nothing had really changed. Well, scratch that… her arms had gone flimsy about an hour ago. How she managed to keep lifting these loads was a mystery to her.

"Are you quite done yet?" Merlin asked exasperatedly—apparently he had given up a good while ago. "Ready to actually hear what I have to say?"

"I will be once you're out." Raivierra grunted out a curt reply as she weakly rolled a stone to the bottom of the pile.

"Rai, _please_." Merlin pleaded in desperation. "The wedding was set for early morning. The roosters were making noise some time ago—it's probably already started."

Raivierra grunted with the effort of throwing her umpteenth stone aside. "Just calm down. I'll get help and we'll—"

"Rai! I'll be fine!" Merlin suddenly exploded. His impatience had finally taken hold of him. Plain and simple, it shocked Raivierra… pleasantly, but stunning nonetheless. "I-I'll be fine." His tone came much more sheepish that time. "Thank you. Really—but you've got to do something. You have to stop that wedding"

"I don't really have any personal disagreements with Uther marrying a troll. I mean they're completely compatible." Raivierra combated with her usual sarcastic demeanor.

"Rai…" Merlin started; the agitation apparent in his voice.

"I'm on it, I'm on it." Raivierra replied flippantly, waving off his frustration. She took a step away and quickly retracted it. "But once it's done, I'm coming back for you."

An "I certainly hope so." sent her on her way.

* * *

Jonas was waiting for her.

He stood in front of the double doors to the throne room. Shriveled face pulled into a vulgar sneer. Hunched back drawn up into the closest thing he could manage to an erect stance. Determined to bar her entry.

"Move aside." Raivierra commanded, taking on an imposing posture. Self-important tone, lock-jawed, and everything. Her best imitation of Arthur. Except without the stick rammed up her arse.

"My mistress wouldn't appreciate that." Came his hiss of a reply.

Raivierra had already started eyeing him up and down. Sizing him up. Not that there was much to consider. He was short—hunched over like he was. And scrawny. Possibly even malnourished.

She momentarily contemplated her weaponry.

Nah. Too messy. And she didn't want to _kill _him. Yet. Besides… even exhausted as she was, he shouldn't give her much trouble.

She took several tentative steps before coming to a halt a few feet from Jonas. And closed the distance between them with a hooking punch that sought Jonas' head. Followed by an uppercut to his liver.

Or rather, where it would have been if he was human.

Unfazed by her assault, Jonas answered with a fist to her gut. A hit that had her doubling over. She could take a blow fairly well… but there was no way someone his size could had that strength. It caught her off-guard. As did the knee that struck her in the face.

Raivierra stumbled backwards, clutching at her tender and now-bloody nose. The angle of the strike had been off… which explained why she was still on her feet. Before she could steady herself, Jonas had closed in on her. She blocked a punch with her forearm. Checked a kick with her shin. And defiantly stood up against an elbow driving down on the nerves in her left deltoid.

Raivierra threw a high punch of her own in an effort to get him to relent.

Jonas ducked the attack and grabbed her forearm with both hands. Using her momentum against her, he spun around, swinging her with him. After a full three-sixty, he released his grip. Sending her flying back into the wall—taking down a corner table and its vase with her.

This all seemed way too familiar for comfort. She could practically hear the wilderin shrieking.

"Rai!"

She heard him before she saw him. How the hell did he get out? "Get in there Merlin. I've got this." She assured him nonchalantly and climbed to her feet.

Merlin held her gaze for a brief moment before nodding and running towards the unguarded doors. A second later found him sprawled on the floor holding his neck.

Jonas—in a display of surreal speed, beat him to the door, turned around, and clothes-lined him.

But now the little hermit was distracted.

Raivierra skirted around and charged full-speed at her opponent, barreling into the 'man' shoulder first. Rather than following through, she launched him away with her shoulder, sending him careening into the wall adjacent to the throne-room doors. Head first.

Payback and then some.

While Merlin staggered to his feet and slipped through the doors, Raivierra pursued her downed adversary. Pulling Jonas' limp body across the stone flooring of the corridor, she stashed the man in a nearby storage room. Not entirely inconspicuous, but it would have to do.

A thunderous applause erupted from within the throne room. Enough to pique her curiosity (though evidently, it never took much). She turned on her heel and chased after Merlin—edging her way through the doorway and into a huddled mass of spectators.

"Are you alright?" Merlin appeared at her side with an inattentive question. The man probably asked out of obligation rather than actual sincerity.

"Close enough." Raivierra replied in a like-minded manner; straining her neck and standing tall to see over the heads of the audience. Jonas certainly wasn't the first man she'd met that had no quarrel with hitting a woman.

"Well at least that's something." Merlin scoffed out a reply and shook his head in disapproval. He gave her a tight-lipped smile and pulled her close to show her what warranted his displeasure.

From this angle, Raivierra had a clear view of the podium. Of the chubby minister. Of Uther and Katrina in their regal ceremonial garb.

… And of the lingering kiss they shared.

**Note: That's it for now, folks. I'm gonna keep this short and sweet. Just let me know what you think so far, por favor. And suggestions are very much appreciated =)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Hey guys. Thanks for all the attention this story has been getting lately. And I apologize for not updating sooner. College has been hectic. But I figured since now it's the break, and it is Christmas… so I have a little something for y'all. A somewhat lengthy update; if I might say so. Hopefully, y'all will enjoy this. And of course, as always, please do let me know what you think. Good flow. Am I losing the flow? Wrong turns—right turns… etc. **

Bless Loki and his sheer-black coat. Sure, at any time of the _day_ he stuck out like a sore thumb- granted, his height of 18 hands didn't do much for discretion. But _Night_ had always been his ally. Which during the darkest of, he'd weave amidst the shadows—the only proof of his presence but his running hoofbeats.

But for now he was still. Melding into the thick of the wood.

Resting a flat palm on his nose to encourage the beast to keep calm, Raivierra slipped out halfway from behind a sturdy tree trunk. Downwind of them (and down a fairly shallow incline) a lively campfire lashed and lapped out in every which direction. Striking at the pairs of boots that lingered at its edge. The flames tentatively licked at the waterfall of red fabric that hung just out of reach. Just beyond the ring of rocks that kept the crackling tinder prisoner.

"Sir." The echo of the man's voice cut through the tranquility of the night. It belonged to one of the duo by the fire. "He was here just a short while ago. He must've taken off right before we arrived."

His partner—or rather, his _commander_, was motionless and unresponsive. He was staring at something… and whatever it was, it was down low. He turned towards what it was he was looking at, walked a few paces, and stooped. Momentarily disappearing from Raivierra's view behind an old log. When he came back up, it was with something draped over his hand.

The object caught the fire's light for just a moment.

A handful of crimson cloth.

Merlin's scarf.

"He left this in his haste." The man's voice was authoritative—however miniscule his observation was. Sir Leon's always was, when he addressed his fellow knights. "He must know that we're right on his trail." He strode over to where he had left his horse, easing the reins out from under the boulder he had used to stake the gelding to the ground. "Mount up. It's only a matter of time before he's ours." He ordered as he swung himself up into the saddle.

"Sir…" the younger knight started nervously. "It's been this way for days." The man seemed to be gaining confidence with each word; and with each knight that gathered around him. "And for all we know, he's already crossed the border into…"

Raivierra had stopped listening by that point. She couldn't let that whiner damage the men's morale. Low morale meant they'd lose interest. Loss of interest meant they'd give up chase.

And that was exactly what Merlin told her to not let happen.

What he was up to would take time and effort—and ever since that troll _hag _accused Merlin of theft, it was Raivierra's time and quadruple _her_ effort that he needed.

And Gaius had been so kind as to propose the idea that Raivierra be a decoy. Keep Uther's dogs busy. Well, not-so-much those exact words, but close enough. The point being that she was supposed to waste their time while Merlin was safe in Camelot, trying to expose 'Katrina' for the dung-munching wreaking lump of warts she was.

Well, that explained why Raivierra was donned in Merlin's spare clothing. Why the top—what with Merlin being a charmingly lanky fellow, compressed her upper back and stretched tight across her chest. And why she moved stiffly in trousers that pinched her hips while their rough hems lined the soles of her feet—their excess length crammed into the bulky boots Merlin had given her.

But none of that spoke to _why _she had agreed to any of this. Especially when she was clueless about Merlin's specific antics that warranted her assistance in this way. That damned boy and his endearing conviction. It seemed this was only the umpteenth time he'd managed to sucker her into doing something outrageous for him.

And the worst of it?

She was naked.

Even in all that clothing. Not to mention the cloak draped over her back and its hood that hid her face in obscurity.

But her back was bare of her regular armaments. Merlin seen brandishing blades? Never. And so to keep up the charade, Raivierra had been forced to leave hers in Gaius' clinic.

Not that she was entirely defenseless. The daggers at her belt had been deemed appropriate—hidden in the folds of her heavy wrap. And of course the tiny knife always on her forearm. Three in total. A few short. Yes, more would definitely be better. Safety in numbers, right?

She warily scanned her immediate surroundings; the way a wildcat does to ensure safe storage of a food cache. A twig snapped and she was instantly on high alert, fingering the hilt of one dagger. Leaves rustled and she drew the blade from its sheath, taking on a defensive stance. The night critter chirped in fear and scurried off along with her long, calming exhalation. She replaced the blade and turned to Loki, quietly lifting herself into his saddle. The worn leather creaked under her and groaned softly as she shifted her weight.

She sat there for a moment. Eyes closed. Steadying herself. _Readying _herself. Measured breaths attempted to coax away her fearof _vulnerability_. The one thing that kept her perpetually on edge. The knights not a half-mile from them gave her no worry. And bandits certainly weren't a threat. But…she could _smell _some rank breath. Steaming and wet. After her. Lassoing her. Reeling her in…

Her eyes shot open. Her heels attacked Loki's flanks. Commanding him to do what both rider and horse did best.

Run.

Loki tore out from the brush like a rabid beast unharnessed. Raivierra ducked against his taut neck to avoid being knocked from her place by a low-hanging branch. He stumbled out into the grassland; his feet desperately trying to keep up as his ardor surged furlongs ahead.

"Sir!" several knights exclaimed in surprise as the duo thundered through the patrol. Scattering them.

"After him!" Sir Leon called out orders as he struggled to regain control of his frightened gelding. "Prince Arthur wants him brought back unharmed!"

With his proper pace and footing came Loki's staggering finesse. He no longer stampeded about, terrorizing the other chargers… but rather, he glided between and around them in awesome displays of agility.

Guiding him with both hands on the reins, Raivierra sent him between two cavaliers. Barely just passing through as his broad body brushed against the other horses on either side. Both knights promptly gave chase. Cursing and shouting all the while.

Raivierra leisurely lifted her left hand to the rim of her hood, pulling it down further over her laughing eyes. Hiding her feminine features from the bright torches they wielded. When her pursuers neared, a flick from her right wrist spun Loki about in a full three-sixty as he ran. Lashing the geldings across their faces with his lavish tail. Discouraging their gaits.

Another knight came at them from the side as three others barred their forward exit. Just as they avoided those that tailed them. Raivierra saw the prideful smirk on the man's face as he closed on them. He thought he had them. Cute.

Raivierra leaned to the right while keeping the reins snug about Loki's neck. A cue understood only by horse and rider. Loki promptly responded by flawlessly changing the direction of his path. His remained facing frontwards, yet he dashed _sideways _to the right. Curling around her left leg. Keeping a safe five-foot gap away from the courser of the-now-terribly-confused knight. Which grew with Loki's furious peddling that even _outpaced _the other horse.

They sure as hell hadn't seen that one coming.

Raivierra leaned to the left to counterbalance the beast's influence and slackened her grip on the reins, bringing him back to a steady forwards motion. Straightening his spine. Guiding him with one hand now, they circled around to find only one man and partner still intent on them.

Sir Leon charged the pair full-on. His face hard-set with determination. Loki's sturdy legs danced beneath her in anticipation as the man's bay Andalusian stallion closed the distance between them. The moment just before they collided, Raivierra jerked the reins to the left then righted them while gently turning her left knee into Loki's side. Loki answered her by briefly coasting to the left as if to evade that way—a move which Sir Leon followed. Once again, Loki's Lusitano-mutt blood kicked in. He abruptly planted his front hooves together to the right, then the left, and the right again—kicking up his hindquarters with that last one. All in just over a second heartbeat. And before Leon had even taken another breath.

Having successfully faked their would-be-captor out, Loki fled the scene by the right exit in a mad gallop. Regaining his raw composure and synchronized breathing as he left the knights behind. Disappearing back over the slope from whence he had erupted.

Raivierra slowed the stallion and glanced over her shoulder as she absently stroked her panting companion's neck. They were clear.

But they had left their mark. And it warranted Leon's pursuit. At least for a while longer.

* * *

A good hour later found the duo skirting the edges of what looked to be a sad excuse for a camp. Something Raivierra had had her eye on for quite some time now.

A lone horse was tethered to a weathered log. The fire burned low—a generous stack of tinder just beyond the reach of its heat. And above it, some sort of small game roasted on a make-shift spit.

She inhaled. Fowl… though if she had to put a name to it, she'd rather it be 'dinner'.

Loki trotted towards the camp with a gentle squeeze of her thighs. Drawing back on the reins, she dismounted and flipped the leather over his head; leading him towards the fire. She released her grip, leaving him free to move around as he pleased.

The other stallion was almost as dark as her own. He lifted his head to look at her for a brief moment, then went back to his grazing. Not _nearly_ as handsome. Or tall, for that matter. And fortunately, he seemed not to care about their presence.

Tossing a few more logs on the fire, she rubbed her sore hands over its heat—taking the time to rotate the spit so the bird would cook evenly. Actually, so it wouldn't be burned even more so.

A flash of hot leapt up at her foot. Then again. Higher. At her ankles. Again at her calves.

Holding in a shriek of surprise, she furiously stomped out the rogue blaze. Her feet ground into something soft. Smoke rose from a singed cloth underfoot. Some sort of bedroll? Looked more like a glorified (though not by much) rag than anything else. She sneered and kicked it aside. Whatever it was, whoever it belonged to had to be an absolute idiot to leave it so close to the fire.

She warily glanced around as she lowered herself onto the damp log. No doubt that little incident could have drawn unwanted attention. The quiet grinding of the horses' teeth and the steady trickle of a nearby stream served to reassure her that she was alone.

And sitting on something.

Reaching under to retrieve whatever it was, she found herself with a worn leather rucksack in hand. A rather _familiar _looking item. She shook her head and sighed, letting the furrow drop from her brows. This was perhaps the most common sort of bag in all of Albion.

But what it contained might not be.

Her eyes darted about once more, checking her surroundings before brushing away the top flap and rummaging through the sack. She scoffed and tossed a humble change of men's clothing aside. An empty water skin. Useless. Gloves… that wouldn't fit her. Her hand fell on a rough leather sheath—hiding a knife. She tucked it in her belt. That was worth keeping. A meager sack of coins… well a little extra money certainly couldn't hurt. She'd take that too. And that was it. All he had. She almost felt bad from taking from this man. Almost.

Tossing the bag aside like common garbage, she reached for the roasting fowl. Wait. That was just unsanitary. She hastily wiped her hands on her crude pants. Leaving traces of sweat, mud and… was that…? Yes it was—a little blood. Though where exactly it came from was a mystery. Her own? Maybe, maybe not.

Shrugging, she reached for it again. And recoiled with a hiss. She brought her still filthy hand to her mouth. Sucking at her singed flesh in an attempt to soothe it. How that smoking wooden spit hadn't collapsed was truly wondrous.

Stubborn and starving as she was, she went for it again. Though this time, simply pinched off some of the bird's breast meat. Bringing it to her lips, she blew on it tentatively. Then dropped it aboard her waiting tongue.

It wasn't anything special. Dry. And it tasted suspiciously like charred wood. But to her… heavenly. She dove in for a second taste, cramming a handful in her mouth. Her jaw moved furiously— still habitually accustomed to consuming as quickly as possible before her sustenance was stolen away.

She'd made her way through about a fourth of the bird when it caught up to her. Her mouth and throat were achingly dry. She heard Loki snort. Whinny. Stomp a few times. Damn beast. She reached for the flimsy waterskin. The few drops left in it did little to supplement the overwhelmingly mild flavor and texture of the poultry. Her chewing slowed. Then abruptly stopped. Arms frozen in place. Bright eyes wide. Every muscle in her body tensed. Like a ballista being primed to fire.

A perfectly natural reaction to having the point of a blade pressed against the back of her neck.

"Well well well. What's this?" A man's voice sounded just behind her. Restrained. Uncertain. But threatening nonetheless. "Get up." Came the sharp order.

She flinched when the steel blade prodded her. Insistently jabbing through the cloak's delicate protection. She slowly raised her hands to show she didn't want trouble. An honorable man wouldn't kill an innocent in cold blood.

...And he might not kill someone like her either.

She painstakingly rose to her feet, making no move to look at the man behind her. No reason for caring what he looked like. The fact of the matter was he had her point-blank. She had to get rid of him.

"Turn around. Slowly." the man commanded. Something in his voice… had she heard it before? No. Not a chance.

She shook her head ever slightly. Tranquilizing her curiosity for the moment. Focus. She torpidly moved to face him. About halfway through her turn, she saw it. He relaxed his grip on his weapon.

Perfect.

She flicked her right leg up at the knee, heel first. Stealing a crackling slat from the fire behind her and tossing it into the air. Before the man could react, it was in her hand. And coming at him. With a cry, and using the torque in her position to fully rotate her torso, she extended her arm and swung like a madwoman.

Embers flew. The blow connected. He staggered back, holding the side of his bludgeoned head. She flew at him. Away from the fire. Into her element. Closing in for the kill. She wound up for another brutal swing.

He blocked. He had managed to match her stroke with his sword. Faster reflexes than she had expected. Faster recovery. But now the edge of his blade was stuck mid-way in her armament. Using his leverage, he pulled her towards him. When she drew near, she released her weapon and instead took hold of the back of his neck. Driving a savage knee into his gut. Twice. A third time. His sword fell. He curled about the waist in an effort to defend against her assault.

She stumbled backwards. Holding her jaw. That fist had come out of nowhere. Not a bad shot for someone weakened and caught off-guard. She pulled one of the knives from her belt. Just as he barreled into her with an enraged yell. Clothes-lining her and taking her to the ground. Her hood fell back. Stones and brambles prodded and scraped her back while the man above her scrambled for control. Warmth. The fire hissed a few feet from her left ear. A strong hand gripped her armed wrist. Pounding that hand against a rock until she dropped the knife. A fist flew at her face. She winced. Then…

Nothing.

Everything stopped. It was a pulled punch. He must've noticed. She wasn't quite sure what it was he noticed… but it gave her an opening.

She threw her legs up and hooked his neck with crossed ankles, casting him backwards with a forceful kick from her hips.

Leaping to her feet, she pulled a second knife from her belt and pounced on him—leaning the bulk of her weight on her forearm against his neck.

"W-wait!" A strangled protest escaped his gaping lips.

She listened. Oddly enough. Why?...

She _did _know him after all. Well… well enough. The light of the fire had caught them, showing her who she tussled with. That endearingly scruffy stubble coating his jaw, chin, and upper lip. Those enticing dark eyes—wide at the moment. Those surprisingly kempt, long brown locks that were splayed out about his face.

Yes, it was enough. She sat up, letting him gasp for breath. His muscled chest and abdomen heaved beneath her as he regained his composure.

"You." was all he breathed out; a look of utter bewilderment openly displayed across his features.

She swung her left leg over to join her right and rose to her feet, leisurely walking back to the log seat. Leaving him to help himself.

A sharp exhale of breath came from his direction. Relief? Disbelief? A little of both. He climbed to his feet and casually dusted himself off. Keeping his eyes on her all the while. She could feel it—a predatory gaze. He strode towards her. Nope. Circled around to retrieve his sword.

A rush of air and he was beside her. Crouching on the log rather than sitting on it. They watched each other for a while before he broke out a smile. "Well, who would've guessed."

Raivierra raised a brow. "Scummy. From the stockades… thanks for that." She feigned collectedness as she caught her breath.

"Yeah, anytime." He nodded between breaths. Sounding as though he had just swam for a lifetime. "I guess this makes us even now."

"I suppose it does." Raivierra agreed with a knowing smile. She wouldn't mention that she'd taken more from him than he knew about.

Something glinted in his hand. He reached towards her. She recoiled. Her knife.

"Keep it." She waved it off. Fair trade. After all, his sat right on her hip.

He tilted his head and slid the knife into his own belt. "You. You're something else." He shook his head as he said so—jaw hanging slack. Looking back to her he grinned, "I mean, You've got a really nice arm." He laughed good-naturedly, referring to the damage she did to him. He gave her the once-over… more like a six-over. "I take that back… you've got yourself a nice everything." He cleared his throat when he was met with a blank stare. "I uh… that is, if I might say so, m'lady."

Really? Raivierra scoffed. They'd just been at each other's throats. And already he was…

"Oh, so it's _men's _attire that does it for you—is that it?" She shot back smartly.

"For a woman like you? I don't see why not. I think you pull it off quite well." The goofy grin was plastered on his face.

She shifted her gaze from the fire once again. Matching his steady gaze. "Oh really? And what—might_ I _ask, kind of woman am I?" she smirked and quirked a brow. Oh, this should be good.

"Well, clearly…" His confident expression faded. Replaced by a thoughtful look. "I honestly can't say."

A curt laugh escaped her lips. "No? I thought you've _known _women like me. What happened to that?" She turned away slightly to hide her growing grin.

He peered around at her when she looked away. Staying in her line of sight. "I think we both know I couldn't have been more wrong." His expression softened a bit at the sight of her toothy smile. "You tell me, princess." That got her attention. Well, earned him a glare anyway. "What kind of woman is locked in the stocks one morning, and traipsing about the 'badlands' by night?"

"The kind that toggles levers and bends a few rules to help out a friend." Raivierra replied flatly, reaching for the now-charred-to-hell fowl. She offered him a handful of the scalded meat. "I assure you. It's quite fun."

He accepted the offer. Gripping her hand lightly before taking the food. Pulling gently to make her look at him. "Really? Helping out a friend warrants… what was it— 'insulting the king and his son', as I recall?" He picked at the morsels in his hand, trying to suppress his smile.

"Apparently." Raivierra busied herself with her own helping—avoiding looking him in the eye. Something about him just… it made it tough to swallow. "Clearly, it also _warrants_ dressing like a man and running from the authorities for days without a decent night's rest."

"That was you I saw just down the rise?" His forehead wrinkled with shock. "That was quite a show." He turned about in his squatting position. Looking for something. He found Loki. Well, the stallion's faint silhouette. Not a hundred paces from where they sat. He let out a low whistle. "And that is quite a fine specimen you've got there." He turned back to her with an appraising look. Then nearly fell off the leg when the realization hit him. "The Knights of Camelot? That's who you're running from?"

"Yeah. So I'd get lost if I were you. They're bound to find this sooner or later." Raivierra surveyed their surroundings as she spoke. As if half-expecting her pursuers to fall upon them at that moment. Maybe that would dispatch the annoyance this fellow was. She stole a glance at the man from the corner of her eye. Briefly flicking over his form. Not a bad-looking bloke, capable, a strong wit…and devoting his full attention to her. But no. She needed him gone. And it should make sense for her to want him gone, but…

He was quiet for a moment. Head cocked. Eyes down. As if weighing the decision in his head. She caught herself waiting on him. With baited breath, no less. "Nah. I'll risk it." A grin slowly reformed on his face when he caught sight of the subtle coloration in Raivierra's cheeks. Foregoing mention of it to spare her stubborn ego, he laughed good-naturedly. "Never a slow day for you, I take it? Then I guess this would be an appropriate way for us to cross paths again."

"Much more likely to happen than by me falling into bed with you." She quipped back. "Or… whatever this was." She leaned down and felt around for the shoddy bed… rag. She pinched a corner of it between two fingers and held it up. Still smoking.

"It's been worse." He flashed a roguish smile and snatched the cloth from her hand. "And that, dear lady, is just _lewd_." He mused at the way she calmly met his gaze. Adding impact to the bluntness of her claim. He drew a pouch from within the folds of his sleeveless jacket and raised it to his lips, took a long healthy swill, then yielded the wineskin to Raivierra

She grasped the neck of the sack. Again, his touch lingered before he actually passed the parcel. Stale mead greeted first her sense of smell, then her objecting tongue. The drink had been long ruined (not that it was of the best quality to start with). Whether by time or temperature, she didn't know… and didn't particularly care. The last drop still settled on her tongue. She tossed the empty pouch back to her fellow scoundrel.

He watched her for a while longer—blank expression and all. Clearly taken aback. He dismissively dropped the deflated sack and held his calloused hand out to her with that broad grin stretching his features. "Gwaine."

A startled, "Beg pardon?" was all he got back.

"My name." He explained, arm still outstretched. "I figured we might take this time for proper introductions… before we're robbed of the opportunity again." Well, he certainly seemed overeager.

She hesitated. Taking her sweet time. Watching him try to contain his sudden enthusiasm. Her eyes fluttered back and forth between his face and hand. Finally, she reached for the latter—warm with a strong grip. "Guinevere." The name rolled smoothly off her tongue. It's not that she didn't trust the man. It's just that—well, yes actually. She didn't trust him… or was it herself? Regardless, something about him just seemed… off. Downright unsettling.

"Guin…evere." He sounded out the name. As if measuring its palatability. "It's a name worthy of royalty."

He'd been so busy concocting his flattery, he was slow to let go—leaving Raivierra to briskly pluck her hand from Gwaine's grip. "Isn't it." She half-heartedly agreed. She'd have to let Gwen know… or not. She wasn't typically the bitter or jealous type of woman… just in this special instance, an _ounce_ spiteful and a _pinch_ covetous. Not that Gwen had anything she wanted. Not completely… not yet.

"Right." Gwaine leapt to his feet and clapped his hands together. "Well. Lady Guinevere… you've had a rough day."

Raivierra raised a brow and audibly scoffed out, "You don't say. Tell me more."

He squirmed a bit under her piercing, condescending gaze. "I was going to say that you're welcome to stay… but now I may have to reconsider."

"Really? Interesting you should say so. Because I wasn't planning on leaving—welcome or not." She narrowed her eyes at the sorry blanket he had thrown on the ground and was now working on straightening it out. "And staying along for safety does _not_ mean _laying_ with you."

Gwaine looked up from his attentions to the tattered cloth and feigned an offended guise. "I'd never suggest such a thing…" His face transformed into a pleased smirk. "Though that is twice you've mentioned it… and I might not protest so loudly."

Raivierra rolled her eyes and retched for show. "Don't flatter yourself." she shot back, easing herself onto the ground. Taking the privilege to use his rucksack as a substitute pillow.

"Though…staying closer couldn't hurt. For safety's sake."

**Note: So, hopefully that wasn't too awful. And I'll try to update more throughout the break… maybe. I'm open to suggestions/critiques. I want them, actually. So please do keep those lovely comments and reviews coming. And chances are there are typos (I was jumping around) that I'm not seeing. So feel free to point them out. Merry Christmas/ Happy Holidays, y'all. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Note: Again, I'm sorry ya'll… for being so inconsistent with updating. College has just been keeping me crazy busy. And the free time I have almost never goes towards writing now-a-days. But, I will say that when I woke up yesterday morning and checked my email, I found a barrage of review alerts on this story that had been forwarded to my inbox. And I've just got to say: Thank you filmyfurry and wolfienur . It definitely is nice to know that I've got readers that are so enthusiastic about my fic :). And in turn, that renewed my enthusiasm for it. So here, I've got a new chapter for you :). As always, r&r por favor. Hope you guys enjoy it! Sorry for the wait. **

Cool water lapped up past her hips. Flirting with the loosely flowing edges of her linen undershirt. Tickling her waist as she waded further into the depths of the pond. Each slow and measured movement stirring up more silt from the bottom. Clouding the already murky waters. Further obscuring her view of the dark shadows that either stalled by her feet or danced about. Either way, evading the reach of her primitive spear…

Nothing more than a sharpened stick of birch.

"Hold… steady…" she heard a masculine voice muttering quietly. A good number of meters away from her, and yet still a distraction. But an ignorable one. Most of the time.

Raivierra fixed her green gaze on a grey blur that lingered by her right foot. It shifted to her left. She raised her pike a bit higher and aimed its bloodied tip several fingerbreadths below her target. One violent thrust and…

"Got you!" The sudden outburst from her companion startled her, discarding her aim and casting her point into the soft earth that lined the pool. Her mark immediately spooked and bolted from the scene—seeking safety in deeper waters.

A string of curses followed the hopelessly poor cast of Gwaine's pole. Giving voice to Raivierra's own frustrations. She turned just in time to see the whole of the man's body follow through on the throw, clumsily collapsing into the water.

He emerged with a snap—righting the balance of his body and sending a spray of droplets in every which direction. And her irritation was nearly completely forgotten. Stripped down to his trousers as he was, the glistening of his well-sculpted torso made him remarkably forgivable.

Yes, she'd seen bare-chested men before. But she was still a woman, after all… and he… wasn't a completely hideous man. He clearly took care of himself well enough.

"Guinevere?" The name he knew her by rang with familiarity. He had retrieved his makeshift lance (he certainly wielded it like one; the clueless lout) and turned to catch her eying him. Damn it. And that amused expression on his face did him no favors. "Are you quite done admiring... or should I turn around?"

That snapped her out of it. Smug arse. "Admiring?" Raivierra gave a sharp, mocking laugh. "I think not." What a sorry lie. "I'm simply wondering when it is you plan on quitting your jester's show and actually put some effort into this." she sneered teasingly.

"Don't be misled. This is my trying in earnest." Gwaine protested, raising his hands in defense against her verbal attack.

"Is it?...oh. Now that's rather depressing, isn't it?" she scoffed out dismissively. Adding insult to injury. She did have to give him credit, however. Even she wouldn't have stayed at it after several hours of failing to catch anything. She turned away, focusing her attention on another gray figure that meandered nearby. Straying from the school and drifting closer with each passing second.

"You wound me, woman." Gwaine feigned offense; going so far as to hold a hand to his chest. He gestured towards the bank where Raivierra had collected a modest pile of sizeable fish. "You clearly know what you're doing. If you'd simply come here and give a few pointers—"

"Not a chance."

"Fine then. I don't mind making the trip…" she saw him wading towards her as he spoke. Waist deep. Up to his chest. Then suddenly he was treading water, keeping his head just above the water. Cute—he thought the shallows of the basin were level throughout.

"And risk having you frighten away the rest of my prospects?" Raivierra spoke just loud enough for him to hear—still focused on her prey. She held up her right hand before returning it to the shaft of her spear. "I'd rather not. You'll stay where you are."

Gwaine halted were he was; his arms and feet swirling around in taut, controlled circles. "Here? Right here? Would you want me to drown?"

"It's not as if I haven't thought about it... frequently. But you do have your uses." Raivierra glanced at him briefly before flicking her gaze back down at the water. "Not all _prey_ can be chased. You can't expect to run all of them down like game birds." She looked up at him again to take in his thoughtful expression. "No, these creatures are in their element. They have the upper hand. If you get their interest, they'll come straight to you of their own accord."

Gwaine was silent. That could hardly be a good sign. Again, she looked up and found his brows furrowed. A distant look to his face. Letting it soak in.

"Then you skewer it behind the skull. Show it no mercy." she hurriedly tacked that bit on. Hoping to clear any ambiguities—she was strictly discussing fishing after all.

"What's that?" Gwaine's face muddled with confusion.

"You asked for advice, didn't you?" Raivierra asked briskly, turning her attention back on the fish. Relieved to find that it had yet to move. She busied herself with positioning the head of the pike. Aligning it again, a small distance below where she perceived the creature to be.

"Wha—you mean with the… yes. I Appreciate it." He finished absently, still unsure of himself. And still treading water.

A solid jab.

The front half of the rod plunged into the water. It met with resistance. A wriggling, panicked resistance that fought her grip on the pole. Using a forward, scooping motion, she lifted the mediocre catch into the air. Where it squirmed feebly against the point that impaled its back.

"And that…" She turned to face Gwaine with a triumphant smile. This should ease the tension. "Is how it is done proper."

He didn't applaud her. Nor congratulate her. But rather, he cringed. A look of agony contorted his chiseled features.

"Don't be such a sour sport." Raivierra chided. He didn't respond. "Gwaine. Come now."

It was then that she noticed it.

The elongated figure swimming away from him. Retreating in a serpentine pattern.

And him. Now taking issue with staying above the water.

Tossing the spear and its dying décor aside, Raivierra hastened to his side. Swimming out to the struggling man. She laid his arm across her shoulders and took her arm around his waist. A few powerful kicks found them in shallow water, where she burdened his weight until the duo made it to shore.

There Raivierra left him and scrambled to her clumped bundle of clothing. A quick rummage, and one of her many knives was in her grip along with the neck of her waterskin. She hustled back to where Gwaine lay—his forearms stubbornly propping his torso up.

"Just my luck…" Gwaine gritted out through a pained expression.

"Where?" Her question was more of a demand than anything.

"My… back." Gwaine managed between grunts and groans. A cold sweat had already broken out across his face. Probably spreading across his body as well, but the pond water masked it.

Raivierra ducked around behind him. It took little inspection of his toned, muscled back to see it. Two puncture marks oozing blood from the back of his right deltoid. Now swollen and discolored with the venom of the snake. "You've been bitten." Raivierra 'pulled a Merlin'; stating the obvious through her grimace.

"Tell me about it… oh it burns." Again, Gwaine's words were growled through a clenched jaw. Taut by his own will—the venom had yet to spread its corruptive influence from the site of injection.

"Be still." Raivierra coaxed with soothing words as she often did with Loki. Laying a gentle hand on his rounded shoulder. She drizzled clean water from the pouch over the wound. All under Gwaine's watchful gaze—as he now craned his neck around to see what exactly was going on. Before he could stop her, she whipped the dagger between the small cavities. Allowing it to extend further in either direction and cutting fairly deep. Releasing a steady trickle of crimson fluid.

"What… what was that for?" Gwaine hissed in pain and surprise. His face reddening with heat.

"Easy, boy." Raivierra crooned. Evidently, Gwaine proved harder to convince than her stallion. Applying pressure around the wound with her finger tips, she forcefully pressed her open mouth to it. Heightening the poor man's shock no doubt. A coppery taste hit her tongue as she suctioned. Then the bitter, toxic flavor shocked her palate. Dizzying her, even. She pulled away every so often to spit—never allowing the mixture past the middle of her tongue, which was unshakably anchored to the roof of her mouth.

"Just my _luck_…" Gwaine repeated. Though this time, it carried a different tone.

"You damn well better hope I'll not catch anything from you." Raivierra half-jokingly threatened—muffled against his skin. She relaxed a bit. Now it was just copper that drowned her taste buds. She had acted on the poison quickly enough.

When she went back in one final time, something was different. Horribly off. The pungent odor of dirt and sweat overwhelmed her senses. Gwaine's firm, smooth expanse of skin (save for the occasional scar—though she found it curious that he did have fewer than she) appealed to her eyes. But it was the texture of short, coarse hairs that greeted her. And why did his witty reply sound so far off? In fact, she strained to hear it.

Wait.

Was that Loki's scream just now? Again. Louder than the first. As if he were right by her ear… but she'd left him back at camp. And he was nowhere in sight.

And then it was dark. Suddenly—and as much so as the deadened coals in a worn fire pit. Just as quiet—like she'd become deaf in an instant. And her body; rooted to the ground. Completely unable to move from the spot.

Vulnerable. Paranoid. Panicked... _weak_.

Damn it. That was one thing she wouldn't stand for.

She opened her mouth to speak. Anything. She swore she mentioned Loki's name. Called to Gwaine to place him. Yet no sound came out.

She closed her eyes. Calming herself. When she opened them, she was somewhere else.

A very familiar somewhere else. The camp site. It was light out. The first of the day; the tell-tale purple and pink hues of the sky smiling down on her. She shifted; garnering a neigh from Loki. Whose flank she was using as a pillow. Well. That explained quite a lot.

She glanced down to find Gwaine's bedroll… cloth… thing, tossed over her. And reeking of fish.

But where was he? Her eyes darted about the clearing. No sign of the man. But he couldn't have left too long ago. He'd gotten the fire started up again. And a newly whittled spit that was ready for use. Not to mention Keincaled, who was still tethered to a nearby tree. It'd be unlike Gwaine—from how she knew him, to ditch his steed. Though… she certainly wouldn't mind taking the horse off his hands if he had.

Footsteps. Just behind her. Who else could it be but the man she had just wondered after? He was walking with purpose. He came to an abrupt stop behind the horse. Something fell on her. Well, he dropped it.

Snatching it mid-descent, the crooked smile fell from Raivierra's face. Merlin's scarf. The one she'd worn until a few nights ago. "Oh, bullocks." Raivierra groaned out a curse before calling upon her exhausted body and springing cat-like to her feet.

"Good morning to you too." Leon's nonchalant address met her. Nope. Definitely _not _Gwaine.

At his words, four more knights stormed the clearing. Swords drawn as if they expected her to give them trouble. Or wanted her to.

"You've given us enough distress, don't you think?" Leon asked, sheathing his weapon. The puffy purple bruising under his eyes gave clout to his claim.

Raivierra held her hands up in surrender. "I suppose. Led you on quite the chase, did I not?" the corners of her lips fought against a smile that would not remain hidden.

"Nevertheless, we've put an end to your fun and games." When he spoke, two of the knights rushed her to secure either of her arms. While the rest steered clear of an aggravated Loki.

The horse had risen to his hooves. And not taking kindly to seeing his companion accosted, snapped at the nearest knights. Pawing at the ground like a bull, his heavy snorts threatened either a charge or a fierce kick. Neither of which would end well for any of these men.

"Easy, little beastie." Raivierra cooed to her ruffian. They'd done what Merlin had asked of them. And he might be needing them again at this time.

But there was the matter of Gwaine. The clod—and she meant that in a partial way. She assured herself he'd be fine. He was more than capable of anything—discounting fishing of course. Though considering the run-in he experienced with that snake, she imagined he wouldn't be too keen on giving it another go anytime soon.

Besides. She'd repay him for all that he'd done later. She couldn't quite shake the feeling they'd cross paths again. They already seemed to have this odd way of finding each other.

Not that she'd mind it. Too much.

She flashed a glaring smirk at Leon. "You think so, do you? I beg to differ." She cast a far-off look to the west. Where they'd be headed soon enough.

Towards Camelot. Towards the damn near closest thing to Home.

"Uther and his hag broad will have your head on a platter. I'm just the appetizer."

* * *

The doors to the council chamber flung open in the wake of the search party; they clustered around Raivierra more like a pack of wild dogs guarding their quarry than an escort. With Sir Leon at their head. They marched directly to where the king sat in his lavish throne beside the Lady Katrina. To where Arthur already stood to the side—an open look of plain malcontent on his face.

"They can't afford more of your taxes. I will not allow you to force poverty onto our people!" Arthur exclaimed, desperately trying to get Uther to see some point that the senior Pendragon seemed completely blind to.

"How _dare _you humiliate your king in the company of his men!" Katrina snarled at the blonde; her face warped with each exaggerated enunciation.

"Yes, question my authority on your own time in the privacy of your chambers, if you must." Uther immediately backed up his newly-wed—drawing a scoff out of Raivierra. This buzzard gave a whole new meaning to 'whipped'. He turned his gaze on the freshly-arrived troupe. "I won't have _my _knights subjected to your insubordination."

Arthur stared open-mouthed. Beaten and speechless. Raivierra might have enjoyed it on any other occasion. Oddly enough, his pompous arse seemed to be in the right this time around. "I apologize… father." He finally managed, and moved to duck away. Though the sight of whom he thought was Merlin stopped him in his tracks.

"You've found him then? The boy who took my most beloved family seal?" Katrina leapt from her seat like a child that couldn't wait to get her hands on a bag of sweets.

Leon hesitated. Clearly deterred by the scene he had just witnessed and desiring no berating of his own. "We… found the one we were sent after, sire." He deliberately addressed the king rather than the new queen. "But neither the boy nor the family seal."

"What could you mean by this?" Katrina demanded

Raivierra pushed past Leon at this and threw her hood back. That gave their noble arses pause. "I'm terribly sorry to disappoint like this." Raivierra spoke with a sarcastic twinge. "It just seems to be a trend as of late."

"What is this? Some sort of joke?" The older woman pressed, scrutinizing every detail about the woman in men's clothing.

"Sort of. A scapegoat to be specific." Raivierra corrected; her amusement making itself apparent in her voice.

"Lock her away." Uther interrupted. "She'll spend the night in the dungeon. There's to be a hanging in the morning."

"Father." Arthur stepped forward again. "That's a bit much." He was speaking on her behalf now? That came as a shock.

"What were you expecting? A slap on the wrist?" Uther glowered at his son. Still bitter from their earlier altercation. "She went to extreme lengths to aid and abet a thief that stole from the crown. That is damning." If anything, the fact that Arthur took Raivierra's side gave him all the more reason to condemn her.

"Where. Is. He?" Katrina spoke slowly and deliberately. The hostility rising in her voice. If this was her idea of intimidation, it was a rather sorry one. In fact, Raivierra took great pride in her self-restraint for not clocking the biddy right then and there.

"Search me." Raivierra shrugged and allowed a tightlipped smile to stretch her face. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Cooperate and your punishment may be… delayed." It was but for a moment that Uther seemed to consider letting her off easy. How exactly did he find that offer incentive, again?

Hell, she'd humor him. More so herself, probably.

She took on a thoughtful look, pursing her lips and all that. "Hmm… lets see. Where would _I_ look…?" She glanced at Arthur, who eyed her warily. He knew plenty well that putting on a show was an art of hers. After a good moment of silent deliberation, she perked up. As if she'd been struck by brilliance. "I'd check Gaius' clinic." She nearly lost it at the expressions on their faces. Confusion. Brimming with rage. Impatience. "Yeah? Already done that, have you?" She heard a couple of the knights behind her cover their chuckles. Then I really don't know what to tell you. I'm at an utter loss."

Arthur cast her a sideways glance before stepping in. Sparing her from the fuming Katrina. "I'll get her out of your sight."

Uther inclined his head in agreement. "You'll redeem yourself yet."

With a whistle and a wave of his hand, Arthur sent the knights- still banded around Raivierra, from the room. He tailed them from the council chambers down to the corridor that led to the dungeons.

Her foot fell on the first step to the final stairwell when Arthur spoke up. "That's far enough."

"Sire?" Sir Leon questioned, turning around with furrowed brows.

Arthur's jaw hung slack for a few moments as he matched Raivierra's calm gaze. As if reconsidering his decision. "Release her."

"Sire…" Leon took on a cautionary tone. "The king's orders were to—"

"I know what they were." Arthur cut the man off. "But they were made in the heat of the moment. And as crown prince, I believe I have a say in the matter." He squared his shoulders and grew more self-important with each word. "And I say that she is to be released into _my _custody _immediately_."

Leon sighed. His spine faltered ever-so-slightly. As if he could already hear Uther's outrage upon learning of this. "Your wish… " He turned to his fellow knights, gesturing for them to move aside. "You heard Prince Arthur. She's getting off."

Raivierra brushed past her guardians to join Arthur; making certain to Leon had a clear view of the complacent close-mouthed smile that curled her lips. "As I said. I beg to differ."

The pair walked briskly, side by side, down the opposite stretch of the hall. Letting the knights fall from their thoughts once they rounded the corner.

"Well that was a pleasant surprise." That would be the closest thing to a 'thank you' that she'd give him. When he was silent, she pressed the issue. "I'm _that _charming, am I? _Must _be to get a free ticket out of a stay in those homely cells."

"You do know I just saved your life?" Arthur answered her indifferently with an obvious question of his own.

"What?" Raivierra gave him a baffled look. "How do you figure that?"

"You were given the death sentence. In case you hadn't noticed." He made no effort to even look at her. It seemed simply speaking to her was a chore in itself.

"Oh, you mean _that_." Raivierra smirked self-assuredly. "I'd have found a way to escape. You just saved us both the trouble. Smart thinking on your part."

"You _are_ aware I can change my mind at any moment and have you swinging from the gallows?" Arthur asked irately. She had finally tried his patience to its limits. He did give fair warning.

"Have I ever told you that you are just a _delight_?" Raivierra retorted cheekily. Riling him was simply too good to pass up. Especially considering it took a scarce amount of effort.

Suddenly he turned on her. Backing her against a pillar. He checked to his right and then his left before he turned his attention back on her. "Listen and listen well." He sounded awfully serious. "You'll need to get to the Lower Town tonight. You'll need a place to lay low. Seek out Guinevere. She'll—"

"Guinevere?" Raivierra gave a bark of a laugh. "I'm not quite sure that's such a good idea… sire." She paused to mull it over. Staying in close quarters with a woman she despised? Yeah… there was a good chance that wouldn't end well. For Guinevere, anyway. "No I don't think—I _definitely_ don't think so. What are my other options?"

"There are none." Arthur's stoic face hadn't changed a nip this whole while. "You'll do as you're told and stay there until Merlin decides to show himself. When he does, we'll pay you a visit."

Bloody Hell.

… the dungeon didn't seem all that bad.

**Note: Alright, that's it for now folks. A bit shorter than normal… and Hopefully it wasn't awful. Though I did do this all in one sitting—writing and editing. So don't hesitate to let me know if I missed something and/or made a mistake. I will say that I am looking forward to getting to seasons 3, 4, and beyond . Big plans if I make it that far :). Again, I truly appreciate any and all feedback anyone has to offer. **

**And on a completely unrelated side-note, SalsaStyle74 has requested/suggested that I share this image with my other readers. While I don't want to push a solid physical depiction of any of my OC's on my readers, I also recognize I do have amazing readers, and she took the time and effort to volunteer this of her own accord. I do appreciate the attention to my story ya'll. So without further ado, if you'd like to see what she thinks Raivierra looks, check this link: ****/r/97r2ht/5**

**Hopefully I'll be updating more often… no promises though :(**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Oh wow. I am so sorry for having such a late update. I realize it's way overdue (half a year!?). But The spring semester in College had me scrambling, and I have been very enthusiastic about summer vacation time… and work. So many things have happened these past few months; more than enough to keep me busy. And to be honest, I just recently decided to revisit the site. And am glad I did. I do want this story to keep going—and I'm so happy and flattered that a good number of ya'll share that hope. As always, hope ya'll enjoy. Always open to feedback/criticism. R&R, lovelies! **

The cold stone floor beneath her knees battled with the warmth of the sun's rays that filtered through the barred window. Damp air clogged her lungs. Her temple throbbed where she'd been struck. She could feel her jaw swelling from the haphazard lashing she had received. Her wrists worn raw from her stubborn struggles against steadfast shackles.

Boots raring for another go at Halig's groin.

The scuffing of footfalls descending into the dungeon mocked her with the false promise of just that opportunity.

She scrambled to her feet and peered out of her cell. Two more guards made their entrance—dipping their heads to acknowledge the pair that stood vigilant at her door. A disgruntled Halig followed after them, dragging a lanky young man after him.

Merlin. But of course.

The empty cell across from her was made occupied with Halig throwing the serving boy against the far wall. Frustration? Anger? Who knew what inspired the actions of that foul buffoon?

A groan from Merlin upon impact. More like a gasp.

"Do the boy harm and I'll gut you to be served like the half-baked swine you are," came Raivierra's immediate threat. Instinct… smart move? Not her concern.

That's when Merlin noticed her. A look of confusion crossed his face when his eyes met hers. Then guilt upon recognizing he was the reason for her being there. Bruised and bloodied as she was.

Halig spared her a spiteful look and spat out, "You'll get your due for your part in this, you little tart." Plenty of spittle with that.

"Don't—" Merlin's protest was cut short with a rough shove to ground.

"Where is she, boy!?" Halig demanded as he menacingly unraveled a chain coil. His tool Raivierra had earlier become acquainted with herself.

"I don't—who do you mean?" Merlin stammered, warily eyeing the length of metal.

"My _prisoner_." Halig hissed in the young man's face. "The nasty little druid girl that you …" He spun briefly on his heel to point accusingly at Raivierra, "and _you_ set free."

"I have no idea…what girl?" Merlin asked with feigned bafflement.

"No? Then what's this?" Halig snarled disdainfully as he snatched away the pitcher Merlin carried. Seems the poor boy was just off duty to the prince when he was found.

The overturned jug produced a small waterfall of meats, cheeses, and bread. Raivierra licked her lips. Delectable. Now if only Merlin would smuggle Arthur's food back for _her_ sometime.

"I-I was taking that for my supper." Merlin quickly responded. He flinched away afterwards as Halig raised a chain-knuckled fist.

"Back off!" Raivierra barked, pressing against the bars to her cage. Like a restrained beast yearning for a fight.

"Halig! What's going on here?" A stern, commanding voice carried over to them from the bottom of the stairwell. Arthur. Arriving just at the right moment. For once.

Raivierra caught the look of alarm that emerged on Halig's face. And of the relief that flooded Merlin's.

"Prince Arthur!" Halig exclaimed—looking back and forth from his two adversaries to the Prince. Taking a moment to calm himself. Careful with what to say next. "These two—"

Arthur didn't give him a chance. "Why have my knights taken two of my subjects into custody without orders to do so?" The Prince demanded, causing Halig to wince.

"They're harboring the druid girl. They stole the gift meant for Uther." The bounty hunter hurriedly explained, pulling away from Merlin as he did so.

"I take offense at that implication." Raivierra argued matter-of-factly, drawing attention to herself. She matched Arthur's gaze- slightly irritated when he looked upon her. Though his hostility had waned over the months. She had earned her keep. And enough of his trust. "He keeps going on about us freeing some druid girl he'd caught. Man's a loon if you ask me."

"Loon!?" Halig fumed, charging across to meet her at her cell. "You struck me over the head! Put me down for your dirty thief friend!"

"Did I?" Raivierra plastered a bewildered look on her face. "Strange then, how I don't recall." That warranted a roll of the eyes from the ape-like man before her. "I do however, recall you being _drunk off your arse_ down at the tavern last night." She continued saucily, reveling in the man's barely-contained outrage. "It's a wonder how you can even claim to remember the night's events."

"Why you!—" Halig started.

"That's enough." Arthur interrupted with the sort of cool, collected composure that would have put Halig to shame… and would have Raivierra as well, had she any. "Merlin has my complete and utter trust." Arthur announced, bringing about a smug look for Merlin. He's to be released at once." His eyes dropped to something by Merlin's feet. His stolen breakfast.

Raivierra cleared her throat expectantly.

"Hmm?" Arthur looked up from the distraction. He stared her down for a brief moment. As if silently communicating the known fact that he _still _bore an aversion to the woman. After all, through all she'd done, if Merlin didn't get credit for saving the kingdom, she didn't come close.

"Arthur…" Merlin prodded as the guards allowed him to step over the threshold to his cell.

"Ah yes, her as well. Release her." Arthur spoke dismissively; as if reluctant to do so.

"Much obliged." Raivierra flippantly thanked the guard that removed her iron cuffs. The moment she was free, she trotted out of her jail to join Merlin.

"Guards, you're dismissed." The blonde man's words sent the four men in chain mail out of the dungeon. He turned his attention to the vile man that gave reason for his presence. "If you have any more problems Halig, I expect you'll bring them to me." Arthur instructed the grimy brute; arms crossed and all.

"Of course, sire." Halig muttered under his breath; head lowered as he took his leave. Though making the effort to shoot a glare in Raivierra's direction.

He'd be sure to give them trouble later. Or at least try to.

Arthur eyed the remaining duo. Scrutinizing the pair. When he spoke, it was to Raivierra. "Making friends as always, Rai?" He questioned—just managing to withhold a cringe at her battered state.

Wait. Was that… Arthur was concerned for her?

"What can I say? I'm practically a lodestone." Raivierra returned smartly with a smirk and a wink.

As expected, Arthur grimaced in answer. Though the tell-tale signs of amusement lingered in his eyes. He turned to Merlin. "And you. You'll be explaining _that_," he gestured at the would-be meal that littered the floor, "after you polish my armor, sharpen my sword, and muck the stalls."

"Right. Will do." Merlin beamed reassuringly—glad to have gotten off so easily. He grasped Raivierra's hand and led her around Arthur; making their getaway by the staircase.

"You know it'd be nice if the two of you managed to stay out of trouble for oh—I don't know, a couple days?" Arthur called after the pair.

"Are you alright?" Merlin inquired as they ascended the steps. He reached for her discolored jaw as he did so. "I'm sorry. I never should've gotten you involved."

Raivierra gave him a sideways glance. He sounded sincere. She knew he was. It's just that this wasn't exactly the first time she'd taken the fall on his behalf. There was Katrina, Aredian, accompanying the boy and the crown prince to confront Morgause… and she highly doubted this druid girl was to be the last on the list.

She slapped the man's hand away and fixed him with a solid look. "Oh please, Merlin. There's no reason for worry. I'm bred tough." She flashed a winning smile and slapped her friend on the back—causing him to stumble. Reinforcing her words.

Merlin grinned back, "And I'm grateful for it. Every time."

They had reached the top of the stairwell; preparing to part ways.

Raivierra rested a tired hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Do me a favor and take care with this one, Merlin." She hesitated before going on, taking on a more serious tone. "I've encountered these 'druid' people in my… travels. Keep mind that magic is a dangerous, dangerous thing. Not to be trifled with. Get rid of it-Get her out of here. For all our sakes." She noted an abrupt change in the man's demeanor.

His face went blank. Lips parted. Shoulders sagged ever so slightly. Arms limp. Shocked. Crestfallen.

…Why?

"Right. I'll get right on that." Merlin's responded absently. "I'll be going now." He avoided meeting her gaze as he turned away and jogged down the opposite hall.

She watched him go. Watched him hurt as he hustled away. Part of her wanted to go after him. Give him her shoulder—as she normally would.

But she had other priorities.

Her bleeding wrists. Still throbbing temple. Sore jaw. Aching body. Mead waiting to be served at that tavern. All things to be tended to.

This time, Merlin would have to wait.

* * *

Raivierra surveyed her surroundings—keen eyes watching for the slightest of movements against the black of the night. It wasn't fear that had her on edge, but rather, a healthy caution.

She knew of the recent attacks. Hell, she'd seen the carnage first-hand. Done by some unknown assailant. A beast that left no tracks. No witnesses. A creature that struck in the dead of night. Preying on those that meandered about alone in the Lower Town.

As she was now.

A beating of wings made her jump.

Okay, perhaps she was a bit skittish. To be startled by only a night bird; thankfully no one was around to see it. Letting out a calming breath, she hiked up her skirt once again and set back on the trek to the clinic. It'd been a long night at the tavern. Groping hands, collecting tabs from reluctant patrons, scrubbing ale-soaked floors… the works. All that and the morning's episode had her craving the luxury of that flimsy bedroll.

A scream. A man in agony. Another. A plea for help.

For all her worries, common sense shrieked at her to take shelter. Hide. Run.

So she did. Her skirt dragged and tore as she sprinted with abandon. Though her legs betrayed her. They'd brought her to the would-be-deserted market square. Where the cry for aid had originated from.

The scene before her had her reeling back. Two of the castle's guards lay unmoving in the middle of the path. Flaming torches lay discarded by their sides. Illuminating crimson splatters that decorated the ground, speckled their armor, and coated the legs of surrounding market stalls. Swords only halfway drawn.

A dark shadow prowled towards the fallen men. Presumably to feed on its victims. The dying glow of the torches threw light upon the creature. Raivierra stifled a cry of surprise behind a cupped hand. Now she'd seen it all. A giant black wildcat… with leathery wings sprouted from its feline back. Gaius was right. Magic.

Raivierra was in no shape to face such a monster. Unarmed as she was. And it had yet to notice her. She was just about to slink back into the shadows when some movement caught her eye. A feeble twitch of torn hand. A choked gurgle of a groan. The guards were still alive.

The Catbeast dropped its head to finish off its prey.

"Here kitty, kitty." Raivierra called in a teasing tone. Making light of the situation. Calming her own heightened nerves.

It worked. The creature's massive head jerked up sharply. Its deadly fangs clicked on air. Two yellow orbs stared her down. 'Kitty' stalked around the bodies of the knights. A low guttural sound erupted from its throat. A chilling yowl. A black mass of feline fury hurtled at her.

Oh shit. It worked.

Her hand went to her boot. Found her knife. A flick of her wrist embedded it high in the Catbeast's left shoulder. Just as the creature closed on her.

A hiss from 'Kitty' misted her face with its spittle. Her eyes stung with its contact. Forced closed from the agonizing irritation. A hoarse cry came from her singed throat. Venom.

Then it was on top of her.

A writhing mass of muscle and fur. Ripping. Tearing. No armor. No resistance. Fangs gnashing. Claws shredding.

Raivierra bucked wildly. Her legs lashed out. Pummeling the beast's underbelly with the fervor of those twenty oxen she boasted.

Raivierra weakened. Tired. Her foe did not.

A cluster of what felt like shivs tore into her abdomen. Slashing across her middle from left hip to the bottom of the opposite ribcage. Trying to tear her in half, it seemed. Whiskers tickled her neck. A pair of ivory stilettos dug into her right deltoid. Another just below that collarbone. A furious mouth wrestled there until a sharp pop satisfied it. Raivierra yelped— tears leaked from closed lids, mingling with coppery taste already settled on her tongue.

Still she struggled. Her arms flailed wildly at an unseen enemy. Batting the cat's face—poking at its eyes. Hips working for the throw.

The pain began to daze her. Fear—not panic, was all that animated her.

Tapered teeth snapped near her face. Cutting small troughs from the left corner of her mouth to her cheekbone.

She felt nothing.

Luck, overdue as it was, paid her a visit. Her swatting hands found the knife hilt. Buried deep in the monster's shoulder. Deeper now as she pushed with what scraps of strength her body could muster.

'Kitty' pitched back and screamed. This quarry proved stubborn.

The alarm bell. Shouts. Stampeding footsteps. Clanking of weapons. Chinking of armor.

A thrashing of wings. The weight of the beast. Claws. Teeth. All gone.

About damn time.

On-duty guards stormed the marketplace. A cluster continued on in pursuit "Don't let it get away!" She'd never been so relieved to hear Sir Leon's voice. "Check them."

It was him that knelt beside her and felt her pulse. Staining his fingers with her blood.

"…one!...Physician. Get… Gaius!"

It was cold. With the adrenaline dying down, her senses returned to her. Throat burned. Wounded eyes never stopped tormenting her. Waves of pain emanated from her middle. Her leg. Her arms—scathed by her attempts to protect herself. Permeating her every fiber. Her breathing quickened alarmingly. Then slowed along with the beating of her heart. Weakening as liquid life flowed from her ruptured and broken body.

Wet.

Loud oscillations—originating from inside her head. Rough hands lifted her onto a stretcher. The canvas sagged beneath her.

She thought to call for help. The notion slipped from her mind; as her mind itself fell…

…Into nothing.

* * *

When she awoke, she saw nothing but black. Her eyes wouldn't open (not that it'd matter—what with the bandages obscuring her vision). Felt… everything. She clenched her jaw against the biting pain that radiated from… everywhere. Dressings drenched in poultices and salves caked her abdomen, wrapped her chest, and compressed her gashed thigh and arms. Herbal aromas mingled with one another; tickling her nostrils. Heard muffled voices. Coming from the end of the bed that she lay in. Her hearing seemed to have dodged the suffering the rest of her endured.

"How is she?" A low voice that she couldn't quite place inquired in a hushed tone.

"Honestly, sire?" Muted as it was, the quaking inflections gave Gaius away. The old man hesitated—whether to catch his breath or for emphasis, she couldn't tell. "Her body is broken in ways I've not seen since the war. I can't keep her conscious for more than hour at a time, and even then, she's in constant pain… nor does she remember those times." A sigh escaped the physician's lips, "It's nothing short of a miracle that she's even lasted through the night."

"But she can recover?" The first voice prodded with mounting concern.

"She…_may_." came Gaius' hesitant reply. Uncertainty. "Her will is strong." A hint of fondness touched that statement. "But even so her body might mend, I cannot promise what she once was."

"Merlin?" Raivierra croaked out in a rough voice. Her call brought both men shuffling to either side.

"Not quite." Arthur spoke up, resuming his naturally authoritative pitch.

"Arthur?" She rumbled. Why was he here? A memory from the night before sparked in her mind. More painful than anything. "What about the guards?"

"Raivierra, the knights…" Gaius began, speaking with thorough deliberation.

"Will pull through." Arthur finished for him. "They live by your intervention." Something in his voice was different. Something off by the way he made his claim. If she had her eyes back to their former glory, she'd have known by the look that passed between the two.

"That's… good." Raivierra breathed out in relief; finding solace in his words. So it hadn't been for naught.

"Merlin told me your heart is nobler than you'd care to admit." Arthur seated himself on the stool at her bedside. "I was a fool for doubting it."

Raivierra was silent for a moment. Letting it soak in. Giving her strained throat reprieve. When she huffed out, it was with, "Still are a fool."

She heard him scoff. Incredulity. Could have sworn he stifled a snort. He should have expected that from her. Even now her moxie refused to cower.

"As such, you have but to ask and you'll have what you need to assuage your distress." Arthur rose, preparing to take his leave. He had a kingdom to look after.

She wouldn't grant him a response. Her heart grew jealous of her throat; demanding a repose of its own. As did the rest of her. Perpetually tired.

Even so, she considered his offer as she drifted back into her slumber. She could think of one thing she could use now. A surefire thing to lift her spirits. To ease her anguish. Just the one. And it had been found scarce over the past few days.

Where was Merlin?

**Author's Note: Hope ya'll liked it! Yes there is quite a large time-gap between this and the previous chapter. The reason(s) being that I just had no inspiration for picking up right where I left off; and that I have a long way to go. I've got the rest of season 2 to work through, season 3, I plan to have some of Raivierra's story will be fleshed out, and then season 4… dunno where I'll go from there. I'll either go with BBC's season 5, or just draw it to a close. Also, I know it's a bit short… and I should give ya'll more than that after such a long delay. So I'll have ya'll know that I'm currently working on the next chapter. Should be out soon! **

**Also, for the followers commenting about the way I write the characters… I'm glad ya'll think I'm doing a decent enough job! I love playing with the series characters—it's been fun trying to get them down, and pitting them with/against my own OC. **


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